


Walking with superheroes

by miss_Carrot



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Big Bang Challenge, Discrimination, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_Carrot/pseuds/miss_Carrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the defeat of Smaug the Terrible, the most frightening supervillain ever known, using any superpowers - be it good or evil - was strictly forbidden under the International Normalisation Act. Superheroes and supervillains alike were persecuted and forced to conform to the community of "normal people" - all in order to prevent the threats which superhuman powers might pose. </p><p>And yet, decades after Smaug had been imprisoned under the mountain of Erebor, the monster started to wake. In the time of trial there was only one team of superheroes which responded to the threat: the Company, led by the mysterious Strider of Erebor. Only they could win the battle with Smaug - or at least they hoped so; what they couldn't win however was trust and support of "normal people" around the world.</p><p>And that is why they needed a journalist, a very clever one at that. So here he is - Bilbo Baggins, at your service!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as kink fill for the following prompt on [Hobbit kink meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6263.html?thread=15028855#t15028855) and also as an entry for the [Hobbit Big Bang](http://hobbitstory.livejournal.com/). Now complete! (I can make some minor changes to it, though, it does require a thorough beta-reading.)
> 
> This work has been heavily inspired by "The Incredibles", which is my main source of knowledge about superheroes. It is also influenced by the [Humans of New York](https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork).
> 
> I'd like to thank my friends Andrzej, Tomek, and [bardzo_czarny_kot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bardzo_czarny_kot) for their help with all the superhero stuff. And special thanks go to [manarai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/manarai) for her quick help with correcting the most idiotic errors of mine.
> 
> Warnings: bad language, violence typical for superhero stuff, mentions of various forms of superhero discrimination.   
> Also, poor pacing and character development. In my head it was all so brilliant! ;_____;
> 
> And thank you all for your kudos and bookmarks, dears! I hop you'll like the rest of the story despite its shortcomings. <3

Imagine someone ordinary, totally usual, someone who would never catch your attention on the street. Someone short, rather plump, with a pleasant round face, maybe a bit too formal with all these _excuse-mes_ and _thank-yous_ , but still nothing to write home about. Nothing to remember, really, so you forget him as soon as he leaves the train, just like the guy who just did, armed with his pleasantries and a well worn-out briefcase.

That, my dear friends, was Bilbo Baggins, who just finished collecting materials for a reportage about the situation of garden hose market in the face of the heat wave which hit the city recently. He was deeply irritated, not only by the temperature and the crowd in the train, but mostly by the uninspiring topic and boring people he had to write about. Bilbo Baggins, even if he appeared to be nothing special – only a junior editor of a business column in a local newspaper, nothing impressive really – he harboured ambitions of becoming a renowned journalist. While he patiently wrote unexciting stories of rises and falls of small businesses, he secretly dreamed of travelling in the far corners of the globe to find a great topic that he could turn into a fascinating story. He just never had a chance to travel, or maybe he had, but was too afraid to make use of it… Well, except for his dreams of grandeur, Bilbo Baggins was actually an ordinary bloke.

He came home, ate the salad his dad left him in the fridge and set himself to work. The sooner he’d finish the extraordinary story of revival of the hose market, the sooner he’d be able to read something actually _interesting_ and _developing_. With a deep sigh, Bilbo took out his Dictaphone, opened his laptop, and startled when the doorbell rang resonantly.

Behind the door stood a tall old man with an absurdly long beard (which was, to Bilbo’s relief, properly combed and free of food leftovers – he was never too fond of beards, I’ll have you know) and as absurdly wide smile. “Bilbo Baggins!” he boomed even before Bilbo managed to unlock the door. It was positively creepy and Bilbo briefly entertained the thought of turning on his heel and hiding in his bedroom, but the lock clicked and the creep stormed into the hall. “I am so glad to see you, my boy! You’ve got taller since I last saw you, and, um, wider as well! But that’s good, very good. How’re your elders?”

“They’re well, thank you. Would you like some tea?” Bilbo answered automatically, before his brain managed to process all the babbling. He was a Baggins to the bone, after all. He seated his guest in the small living room, brought some cookies and perched up on the armchair closest to the door. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Bilbo asked nervously, forcing the cogs in his head to work quicker; he tried to remember this overenthusiastic face, but couldn’t grasp any fitting memory.

“My my,” murmured the guest, shaking his head and casting a long disapproving glance from behind his suddenly furrowed brows. “Who’d think that the son of the Nightshade will become such a clerky type…”

Bilbo froze with the teacup still up and his mouth slightly agape. And then the put the cup on the saucer with a loud clink and stood up abruptly.

“I’ll see you to the door, sir,” he announced coldly, yet still politely. The guest didn’t move, even after Bilbo’s urging gesture, his whole posture suggesting that he was an embodiment of insulted innocence. Bilbo however was too old for such tricks. “I’m counting to three and if you don’t disappear, I’ll call the police.”

These words finally brought an effect, though it was contrary to what Bilbo expected. Instead of leaving the house as he was bid, the guest stood up, placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and shook him back and forth several times.

“Wake up, Bilbo Baggins! Can’t you see who I am?!”

And then, as if indeed woken up from a weird dream, Bilbo _saw_ the man and recognized him.

“You’re… you’re the Grey Wizard,” he whispered, blinking rapidly. The memories flooded all over him now – this man and his mother, crouched over a kitchen table and whispering, all those years ago. The Wizard, with his ability to find the things that were lost or forgotten; his mother, with her power and bravery to retrieve them. And with the memories also fear – suppressed, yet still present ever since he was a child – flooded over him. “Are you here to take my mother?” Bilbo blurted out, staring at the Wizard with his eyes wide.

The slightly irritated expression on the Wizard’s face softened at this. “I can’t,” he said sadly, shaking his head and letting Bilbo go. “You know that, my lad.” And Bilbo knew, of course – he did since he was eight, so he just sighed slightly shivery, both with relief and melancholy, and moved awkwardly towards the armchair. They both sat down again, silenced by their thoughts of Belladonna Took-Baggins, alias the Nightshade, once one of the most famous superheroes of the Kingdom.

You see, my friends – even if Bilbo himself was just a young man as average as can be, his family was certainly extraordinary.

He was first to break the silence; he cleared his throat and fidgeted in the armchair, raising his eyes to the Wizard. “Well… to what I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I am so glad you ask, Bilbo, my boy!” Once again the Wizard’s face changed within mere second, going from thoughtful frown into a broad smile. “Because I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

“Well, you are late then, I’m afraid,” Bilbo replied with a forced laugh, eyeing the Wizard cautiously. He said he hadn’t come here to take Belladonna away, but with superheroes one can never be sure. “My parents went to their holidays to Greece only two days ago.”

“The Wizard is never late, Bilbo Baggins, nor is he early,” announced the Wizard, mockingly wagging his finger in Bilbo’s general direction. “He arrives precisely when he means to. And he means to take you on an adventure.”

“And why is he talking about himself in the third person…?”

Bilbo’s sarcastic question was left unanswered, because the Wizard reached into an inside pocket of his linen coat and took out a flat device similar to a tablet, but completely transparent. Upon a single touch the device glowed with purplish light, and a tri-dimensional image of a city between the mountains appeared over it.

“What is this place?” Bilbo asked, leaning towards the device and squinting to see better – the image was very detailed, and he could even see small people running to and fro.

“That, my dear Bilbo, is the memory of Erebor.” This time it was the Wizard who let out a grave sigh. “Once it was known as a cradle of superheroes. It was the home of virtuous and mighty men and women who fought for what was good and saved many human lives. And I believe that you know what happened next.”

And of course Bilbo knew; he didn’t even need to see the fire falling from the sky on the stone houses. Then Smaug the Terrible, the Fire Dragon, the most terrifying supervillain the world ever heard of, came to wreak havoc. Bilbo was eight when the Dragon came but he remembered the constant fear, the blackouts, the whispers between his mother and the Wizard in the tiny kitchen. Better yet he remembered what happened next – the International Normalisation Act, the repressions that came with it, their live on a constant move.

“Shut it down, please.” He averted his eyes from the tiny people running for their dear life from the dragon’s fire. The Wizard obeyed, and Erebor disappeared. Just as it did in reality. “Why are you showing me this? What do you expect from me?”

“A story, my lad. A story that will prevent it from happening again. Because Smaug – he is waking up.”

*

What is the International Normalisation Act, some of you might ask – and I am glad that you do, because the sooner we all forget about it, the better. But I’ll tell you how it all started. Some people always had their concerns about superheroes – and justified, one might say, because where there are superheroes, supervillains will thrive too. And then Smaug the Shapeshifter turned into Smaug the Terrible and lit the skies and earth with fire. The army of his minions crawled over all cities and villages, spreading terror and death at will. After that tragedy there was no such sacrifice, no deed great enough to convince people that superheroes should be able to use their powers freely. It was decided that everyone should be _normal_ – and hence, the Normalisation Act entered into force, hastily agreed by nations suddenly united in fact, because of the fear of the Dragon.

Not only was it forbidden to use the superpowers and to “practice superheroism”, but all the people displaying any extraordinary abilities were put under state’s control. They were registered and examined thoroughly, and so were members of their families who were suspected to bear any special talents. The former superheroes were persecuted and forced into _normalcy_ , with the hope that they would forget who they really are and the world would be saved from another Smaug.

But they never forgot, and they never forgave.

*

The offer the Grey Wizard made to Bilbo was good – no, in fact it was just great. It included a contract for several articles in the most prominent magazine in the country, with substantial fees for each of them and the possibility to make his name if not famous, then at least recognisable. And, besides of all this, it would give him a chance to do something important, valuable, and developing. And Bilbo politely declined it, of course. He was not up to the task, he explained to the Wizard, he was just ordinary journalist and he specialised in economy, and not superheroes of all things. And he was sorry, he truly was, but he has his article to finish.

But when the Wizard left, Bilbo didn’t get back to his work. He went to the attic of their home instead, opened the paper box in which his parents kept old bed linens they never used, and took out a small notebook, yellowed from age. It contained several newspaper cuttings about the brave supergirl named the Nightshade, a faded ribbon embroidered with delicate purple flowers, photos of his parents still young and laughing – his mum holding him up by his shadow only, mum and dad dancing on veranda, mum in her superhero costume winking flirtatiously from behind her mask – and a few letters from the people whom the Nightshade helped.

He didn’t look at these things since he was twelve; it was when _they_ almost drowned him during the examination to make sure if he didn’t display any superpowers when his life was in danger. He didn’t display anything – I did mention that Bilbo Baggins was nothing if not ordinary, didn’t I? – but for the first time in his life he was really afraid that he’d die and no one, super or not, would come to his aid. After that Bilbo Baggins did his best to forget them superheroes, and he succeeded until now, as he knelt on the floor of his parents’ attic with an old notebook hugged closely and cried silently.

I took him several hours of _remembering_ before he was sure he made the right decision. Bilbo considered even calling his parents and asking for advice, but all in all, he wanted to do it all by himself. He left a letter for them, explaining his motives – he was sure that his parents would understand, but still he felt like a teenage runaway. Then he quickly packed the most necessary things, downloaded all records from his Dictaphone to have as much free space as possible, hid his mother’s ribbon deeply in his backpack and run towards the harbour. The Wizard told him that he stayed in a small inn called The Prancing Pony, and Bilbo hurried there hoping to catch him before he could find anyone more suitable to the task. Three times, when stopping on a red light, he considered turning back and forgetting about this mess, and he had no idea how to ask about the Wizard when he would reach the reception desk. But apparently he had more luck than he expected, because when he arrived there, huffing and puffing like an old locomotive, the Wizard was sitting outside in huge retro sunglasses and reading newspaper, swinging his foot nonchalantly.

“Sit down and drink some water, my dear boy,” the Wizard offered, not rising his head from the newspaper. Bilbo threw his backpack on the floor with a loud thump and grasped the bottle of water without a word. When he drained it, he felt better enough to wonder how on earth did the Wizard knew that he’d come, but he knew better. The superheroes were just like that.

“I decided to accept your offer,” he muttered, avoiding the Wizard’s gaze. “I thought it over and… If they are to battle Smaug… these people deserve all the recognition they can get.”

“I am glad that you see it this way, Bilbo.” The Wizard stood up, folded the newspaper and gestured towards the inn. “And now, up we go.”

“Up?”

“Yes, to the rooftop. I hope that it will sustain though.” The Wizard’s tone was dry as he shot a long judging glance over Bilbo’s backpack. “Did you take all the necessary things with you?”

“Yes… no!” The realisation hit him as a stone. Bilbo jumped in place, and the backpack which he just placed on his shoulders hit him painfully. “I forgot handkerchiefs! I must have my handkerchiefs, I have allergies!”

“We’ll fix it underway,” the Wizard promised, tugging him to hurry up. They used the escape staircase; the grumpy old man behind the reception desk didn’t even blink as they passed by, and Bilbo wondered if it was because of the Wizard’s hidden superpowers, or because he was in some sort of conspiracy. When they reached the rooftop, however, Bilbo mentally voted for the second option, as no superpower ever could cause anyone to not notice something like _this_.

There stood a fulfilled childhood dream. A sliver flying fish glistering in the afternoon sun. A machine so perfect that it could be admired by the most sophisticated art critics, while still being a lethal weapon.

“Name’s _Shadowfax_.” The voice woke him up from his awe. Bilbo didn’t risk up a glance, because he was sure the Wizard was laughing at him. “The Company’s jet. Well, actually it’s mine.” Now the Wizard was surely laughing as he patted Bilbo on the shoulder. “But I let them use it.”

Partially pushed, Bilbo went to the jet on wobbly legs. The silver door wings parted with a silent hiss and they entered the cool semidarkness of _Shadowfax_. Bilbo squinted, trying to make something out of the shapes, when he bumped into someone. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, leaning on the wall to stabilise himself.

“And so am I.” A low, rich voice vibrated through the air. Bilbo, who felt a surprising but not entirely unpleasant fluttering in his stomach, finally was able to recognise a tall silhouette clad in a dark, hooded cloak. “Wizard, I told you that it’s the most idiotic idea you’ve ever had.”

“And I told you that you have no say in this,” the Wizard quipped, and bypassed them both heading for the bridge. The hooded man didn’t move by an inch though, even when the engines of _Shadowfax_ started to buzz.

“Uhm… Well, my name is Bilbo Baggins, and I am here to write a series of reportages about the Company.” He reached out his hand, but the man didn’t shake it and after a few awkward seconds Bilbo just let it fall down.

“You look more a schoolboy than a journalist to me,” the man replied after a while, shifting from foot to foot. The irritation was clearly audible in his voice, and the vibrations of it sent small shivers down Bilbo’s spine. “But I shall not treat you leniently because of that. Know this, Bilbo Baggins – if you write a single lie about anyone of the Company, I’ll see you pay for it dearly.”

Bilbo wanted to come up with a clever retort, he really did, but then _Shadowfax_ launched into the air and he rushed to the bull’s eye to watch the world becoming small and bask in his childish joy.

The hooded man’s snort got muffled by the engine’s humming.

*

The air journey would be perfect – almost like he was flying all by himself, surrounded by all this _whoosh!_ sounds and with a cape fluttering – if not for the hard gaze fixed in his back. Not that Bilbo was paying any attention to that weird bloke, he was too busy imagining things, but still it was slightly unnerving. After a long while however the rational part of his brain reminded him that he was here to collect material for his reportages and that he was sitting in the same room with someone who was openly a superhero. Cursing the sad fact – not for the first time in his life – that the first impression can be made only once, Bilbo turned from the bull’s eye and looked at the super-weird-man. Who didn’t move an inch since Bilbo last checked, and was still sitting in a narrow seat and looking at him piercingly.

“Uhm, sorry, I got carried away,” he explained, moving towards the free seats. The room was quite big, with more than twenty seats, but it felt crowded nevertheless. “You must be quite accustomed to travelling by superjets,” Bilbo added, when no response came. He shuffled his pockets, looking for the Dictaphone, but the damned device was stuck in his backpack on the other side of the room. He’d have to rely on his memory, then. “Did you quit practicing superheroism after the Act or…”

“I didn’t quit _practicing_ anything,” the man positively growled, and averted his eyes from Bilbo, shaking his head. “Because I never _did_ practice anything. I just do what needs to be done, like we all do.”

Were he a bit more flexible and convinced about the possible outcome, Bilbo would definitely kick his own bottom. How could he be so thoughtless and use the stupid, offending phrase from the Normalisation Act just in front of an active superhero? And now the guy didn’t just want to kill him with his eyes – and Bilbo still had no idea what his superpowers were! – but he pretended that Bilbo was simply _non-existent._ Quickly checking if he didn’t start to disappear, burn or transform into something nasty, Bilbo cleared his throat and blurted out: “I’m so, so sorry!” For the third time within only half an hour, he added to himself. The man didn’t dignify him with an answer, which had its advantages, as Bilbo wasn’t sure if he would live down the shame. The silence, however, was too heavy to bear, and he struggled to find anything good to say, anything that would not make his situation worse still. The easy one-liners which worked magic to ease the tension were never his strength though, and suddenly all he could come up with were silly stories about the garden hoses. He drew a breath, hoping for a stroke of genius.

“Don’t,” the man snapped, and then there was a loud thump and a shudder as the jet stopped. The buzzing ceased and the silence rung in Bilbo’s ears like a cannonade. “Just don’t, would you? I gave you a fair warning, and I wouldn’t like to execute it just now.” He turned on his heel and rushed towards the entrance, which opened again with a hiss. In the sudden sunlight the man’s silhouette stood out sharply, like a black ghost.

 “I – I just wanted to learn your alias,” Bilbo lied. He wanted to apologise, to explain, and to ask a thousand of questions, but he wasn’t allowed to. That was a part of the deal – no names, no private stories, nothing personal could be exchanged. So he just hoped that the man would somehow miraculously understand his intentions and answer. But he didn’t.

“It’s the Strider,” said the Wizard, appearing in the aisle. “Come on now, Bilbo. The Company is waiting.”

*

Imagine a group of extraordinary superheroes, people who can do things you could only dream of as easily as you can breathe. People who spend a good chunk of their life on saving the lives of others and who face dangers that you meet only in your worst nightmares. They would be solemn and perceptive, with hands close to weapons, and ambiguous smiles plastered to their faces. That is, completely opposite of the group of superheroes named the Company which Bilbo met as he left the deck of _Shadowfax_.

Before he saw them, he was hit by a wave of unbearable noise: several people were shouting at each other atop of their lungs, someone shrieking, someone laughing, and there was a chantey sung in two voices somewhere in the background. Bilbo swayed on his feet, but regained his balance and trotted petulantly behind the Wizard, blinking rapidly to keep his eyeballs from falling out of their sockets. He was in a room filled to brim with superheroes, in their supercostumes, supermasks and supercapes.

You see, my friends, when he was a boy, Bilbo really dreamed of being a superhero; he wanted to do great things just like his mom, and he didn’t abandon his hopes even after the Act was adopted. Only the trauma after the physical examination he experienced when he was twelve made him stop dreaming. And now it all woke up inside him. It would be weird if it didn’t though, considering the general level of the noise.

“You nasty brat!” A shout – or a bellow, really – got through the constant yelling. “I saw you doing it!” Someone dressed sharply in a three-piece and a black Venetian mask jumped up with a squeak and started to run away; just after him rushed a giant clad in an old-fashioned superhero suit in deep green and faded gold. “I’ll tear yer hands off for messing with the cards!”

Bilbo forced himself to stop looking at the chase and focused on the rest of the Company. Three of the members were indeed sitting on the floor with cards in hands, and some other were hovering over them, cheering up or simply watching the game. There was another man dressed in a suit, who laughed like a madman, meowing something about it being all him and disregarding all attempts to hush him. The singing duo changed their tune to something livelier – Bilbo recognised _Away Rio!_ – the card cheater finally got caught if the deafening screech was anything to judge by, and the room became a real pandemonium.

“QUIET!”

The echo of the command vibrated in the room for a long while; Bilbo found himself on the floor, shaking from the mere power of the sound.

“Thank you, Captain Blackbird.” This voice Bilbo recognised instantly and shivered again, though this time not with fear; his travel companion appeared out of the thin air, his royal blue cape fluttering magnificently. Bilbo licked his lips, focusing his whole attention on the man. The Strider, he corrected himself. “Now cease this nonsense. We have got work to do. The Dragon is waiting.”

The sudden silence contrasted sharply with the merriment from before. Bilbo couldn’t see the superheroes’ faces because of masks and hoods, but their postures sagged visibly.

“Now, now.” A big, warm hand patted Bilbo’s shoulder and he couldn’t suppress a yelp. It turned out to be the Wizard, who made a placating gesture and helped Bilbo to get up. “Before we get down to technicalities, we must allow our journalist to collect his material. Let me introduce Bilbo Baggins, the reporter of the Company.”

The two dandies clapped and cheered, the green giant laughed, and the Strider just snorted. Bilbo tried to use his best professional smile and even mumbled something about how pleased he was to meet such renowned Company, but no one seemed to listen to him.

The Strider suddenly appeared just in front of them and leaned towards the Wizard. “Do we really have to waste our time for this?” he hissed, not even looking at Bilbo. “The Dragon…”

“Is far less dangerous than the hatred and fear among the public. You _promised_.” The Strider just bowed his head and turned back to the Company.

“In this case, let him start. The sooner we finish this madness, the sooner we can get down to business. T-Rex, you’ll go first.”

Bilbo, who felt utterly and completely lost, saw the huge green-and-gold man stand up and go in his direction. He gulped, and was pretty sure that everyone heard him, because his first interviewee just laughed as he came closer.

“Come, lad, ‘m all yers,” the giant declared, placing his paw on Bilbo’s back and guiding him to the adjacent room.

*

“T-Rex, at yer service.”

Bilbo arranged his tools nervously, trying not to look at his interviewee. Usually it wasn’t like this; mild-mannered reporter he might be, but it was always he who was in charge. You see, my friends, Bilbo not only had his ambitions – he was actually quite apt at talking with people and turning their stories into fascinating reads. He guided people using his clever questions, because he was sure what he needed to find out. Now, looking at this man hidden behind his old, funny costume, he suddenly wasn’t sure anymore.

“What…”, Bilbo started, but stammered, question like a lump blocking his throat. T-Rex shot him a long glance and a small, rapacious smile appeared on his face. Bilbo swallowed the lump and continued, as hated how helpless it sounded: “What would you do if… if the Act hasn’t been established?”

It was not how he had it planned; according to the draft he was to inquiry about the nature of the superpower, how it could be used to helping people, maybe some examples – this sort of positive stuff to cheer the audience up. But Bilbo just couldn’t imagine himself asking, _Well, T-Rex, have you ever saved anyone using your super strength? Oooh, cute little kitten, was it?_

T-Rex just laughed – it was a short, bitter laugh, and Bilbo could feel chills wandering up his spine.

“I’d do exactly what I did, lad. Ye know, what I can’t get about that shitty Act of yers is – do ya really think it is gonna stop anyone?”

“No, it isn’t…”

“Nay, it isn’t! Ya can hunt people down, throw’em to jails or force some damned suppressants down their throats, but ye’re never gonna stop’em. Never gonna change’em. Ye’ve never changed me.”

“Good,” muttered Bilbo, fighting with the chills and gooseflesh. He wasn’t sure if he offended a superhero again, but he felt totally and utterly scared. “That’s good. But… could you tell me – how have you coped? What did you _do_?”

“Teach self-defence.” Bilbo blinked and swallowed hardly; the answer came out almost as a growl. He shivered and dropped his gaze, looking at his sweaty palms. “And evenings I wandered in the neighbourhood to check if my classes worked.”

There was a sudden soft thud which almost caused Bilbo a heart attack. The door opened and a short man in dark-red hooded coat entered the room and there was something so powerful in his stride that Bilbo couldn’t but squeak. Then, terrified, he ducked under the desk, praying intensely – though he wasn’t sure to whom and for what.

“Rex, and what have you done here! Off with you, lad!”

Suddenly, Bilbo could feel in him the courage to peek out from behind the desk. T-Rex just laughed, showing all his teeth, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as before.

“Stubborn beast, he is,” he said, nodding towards Bilbo. “I must give him that.” At that, he left, and the second interviewee sat down with a sigh, giving T-Rex a pitying look shaking his head.

“Come and sit down, laddie,” he said to Bilbo, who did it with relief. “There is nothing scary here. That unbearable younger brother of mine used his superpower on you. You see, intimidation is his asset not only because of his posture, he evokes it in people who… well, who feel guilty about something.”

“You mean he – he frightens people? And _that’s_ his talent?” When he regained his seat, Bilbo regained his composure as well. And it felt awfully – it was like all his good intentions, all his compassion were just twisted and used against him. “Why on earth would he do this to me?” He didn’t get any reply, the other man just looked at him meaningfully and Bilbo shut his mouth. “Well… let’s start from the beginning, then. What’s your name, I mean, your alias?” He corrected himself immediately.

“It’s Whisperer, laddie. And calm down, please.”

And Bilbo did. The whole tension he felt ever since he saw the Wizard’s face through the eyehole left his body on the Whisperer’s command, in one rush. Suddenly he felt very tired, exhausted even, and totally empty inside. He blinked several times, yawned widely and dropped out. And I’ll have you know, my dear friends, that he needed it direly.

*

“Let’s wake him up!”

“Oh no, you don’t!”

There was a commotion, a splash, a yelp, and a patter of several pairs of feet. Bilbo sighed deeply and cracked one eye open tentatively. He saw two pairs of legs in black suit trousers – one of them soaking wet – and a small wooden bucket which one would expect rather in a Hollywood fantasy film than in a superheroes’ secret base.

“You’re awake!” One pair of legs – the wet ones – rushed toward Bilbo, who startled and propped himself up on his elbows. He was alone in the same room he used to interview T-Rex and the Whisperer, save from the two young men dressed in elegant, well-tailored suits with black carnival masks on their faces. One of them – slightly smaller and significantly wet – was hovering over him now with a wide grin plastered to his face. “Hi! Are you going to interview us now?”

“Ugh… what time is it?” Bilbo asked, staring numbly at his watch. After several long seconds he processed what he saw and decided that it’s supper time. He couldn’t avoid the eager gaze though. “Sure, I mean, I’d eat something before, I’m kind of starving…”

Before he managed to finish the sentence, on the desk before him appeared a plate of cheese sandwiches and a cup of tea. Bilbo stared at them, and then at the manic smile below the Venetian mask, and swallowed with a loud gulp. Again.

“Well, go on!” There was a slam and another chair appeared on the floor. Both men sat down on them simultaneously, like they trained it several times before. Bilbo looked at their faces – what he could see from behind the masks – and saw youthful eagerness and deep concentration. “They are just sandwiches, I promise!”

Under their expecting gazes Bilbo took a tentative bit of one sandwich. Which was surprisingly normal, you know, nice bread, some butter, and tasty cheese. It didn’t melt down or smell weirdly, or disappear in his mouth. “It’s very good, thank you,” he said politely, and both faces light up with joy. Bilbo finished the sandwich in several munches. He really was hungry, and besides he didn’t want to make these two wait. “So, you can create things out of thin air, right? Both of you, have this superpower?”

“No, only me,” the wet one, with manic smile, puffed with pride. “But wait, you don’t know our aliases!” He jumped out of his seat, tugging his comrade up. They both bowed slightly, giving Bilbo a playful look from behind their masks.

“It’s Blackjack…”

“…and Baccarat…”

“At your service!” They finished together, with a deep gallant bow, and sat down again. The names have been distantly familiar; Bilbo associated them with some card games, but he was never a player himself.

“So you,” he said, turning to Baccarat, “can create food and other things at will. What is your superpower then?”

The other man – Blackjack – just gestured towards the sandwich Bilbo was just about to eat. Expecting the worst, Bilbo looked at it, and in the same moment the sandwich fell out from his hand. Before it hit the ground, it rotated a full circle and landed the buttered side up.

“I can change probability,” Blackjack said with a smirk. “Make unlikely things happen. You were holding this sandwich surely, and yet…” he made a gesture of rapid falling “it slipped.”

“And that’s why you laughed then,” Bilbo muttered, finally comprehending. “It was _you_ who messed with T-Rex’s cards.”

“Only a bit.” Blackjack shrugged, but seemed pleased that it was noticed.

“He thought it was me, producing nines all the time,” Baccarat added in the same tone. Bilbo wondered for a moment if in real life they are actors or something; they clearly enjoyed the attention, and their words and gestures seemed somehow practised.

Bilbo took the last sandwich and was just about to ask another question about their powers, when a loud command rumbled through the room.

“ATTENTION ON DECK!”

Blackjack and Baccarat jumped and turned like soldiers on a parade. Bilbo rose from his seat too, unsure if he should follow suit. He wanted to munch down his last sandwich before that, practical Baggins through and through, but with surprise he discovered that his hand was empty. The plate and the cup with untouched tea disappeared as well, as did the chair Blackjack has occupied. Wondering if the sandwiches he already eaten met the same fate, Bilbo followed the boys and wandered into the huge room he was before. It took several moments for him to recognise the place though, as one of the walls was now completely see-trough and there was a huge smoking volcano visible behind it.

“It’s Erebor, laddie,” said the Whisperer, who suddenly found himself just beside Bilbo. “That’s where Smaug lies.”

“It’s… your home, isn’t it?” Bilbo blinked, as he remembered the story from his early childhood, whispers and shouts, and scraps of TV news. There was something… about the city of Erebor being destroyed, blown up to trap the Dragon below a newly-created mountain.

“It is. Now come on, laddie. You need to see it closer.”

And Bilbo did just that – he plastered his nose to the see-through wall, and observed the smoke swirling up in the sky, and he could swear that he could see fire inside the mountain too, glistening like embers from below the stone. He couldn’t take his eyes from the view, wondering in the back of his head if it’s part of the Whisperer’s power, but the view was morbidly fascinating in a way.

“I can stop the eruption!” A voice protested, and Bilbo turned from the window to see Blackjack – cheeks red with anger and hands curled in fists – shouting at the Strider. “You know I can! Stop doubting me!”

“Yes, and then a swarm of anvils will fall from the clear sky and kill us, because of yer backlash,” T-Rex stated matter-of-factly. Blackjack’s face became redder, even if it seemed impossible, and the lad turned on his heel and rushed out of the room, with Baccarat following him instantly. “Oh, of course, go and take offence, lad, that’s the best time for it!”

They didn’t return, though, and the Strider shook his head, stopping T-Rex from following them. “We may need to use them as a back-up, but for now, let them go. Now, Ghost, you were saying…”

“I could phase through,” the man whispered, stroking his long red beard with nervous fingers. Bilbo pricked his ears, doing his best to understand the hushed words. “Check how it looks like. Whether he’s awake.”

“If not, I could make him sleep again,” the colourfully clad man with funny moustache and yellow hat with earflaps suggested. “Buy us some time at least.”

“He will feel the slightest intruder and wake up,” the Whisperer shook his head knowingly. Bilbo couldn’t see his face, but something in his voice, or in his helpless gesture suggested that the Whisperer was an old man who knew precisely what he was talking about. “Ghost won’t make it alive.”

“Then what do you suggest, then?!” Strider barked, hands curled in fists just as Blackjack’s a moment ago. “Sit there and wait till all the hell breaks loose? Again?!”

“We need to be prepared when the Worm goes out,” said the Whisperer simply. “Have a plan, or better several plans; prepared battlefield, traps…”

“Perimeter…” Bilbo muttered under his nose, or at least he thought so. Apparently he was wrong, he must have said it quite loud, because now everyone was staring at him, bewildered or angry, from behind their masks and below their hoods. “Erm… I just… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“What did you say, laddie?” The Whisperer stepped in Bilbo’s direction.

“I just thought… perimeter. You know, to avoid casualties.”

“Perimeter! Good heavens!” A short, plump man in old-fashioned superhero tights, a cabled pullover, and an impressively long knitted cap, couldn’t suppress a snort of bitter laughter. “My boy, this place is deserted, it has been burned to the bare earth. You don’t have any idea about the Dragon, do you?”

Bilbo wanted to protest – he knew about Smaug the Terrible just as much as everyone. His mother told him everything he needed to know about the Worm’s fire. But it didn’t feel right, not in front of people who actually fought the monster. So he just mumbled his apologies and took a step back, pressing his shoulder to the glass wall.

“That’s it, then. We land, check the ground, and prepare ourselves. We shouldn’t wait long,” the Strider added, inclining his head towards the dark cloud of smoke whirling in the sky. “Wizard,” he turned to the old man, who observed the discussion with a sour face and hands crossed on his chest. “Bring _Minty_ to landing, but not so close – to Dale, perhaps.”

“You will regret your foolishness, Strider,” the Wizard announced, but went to do as he was bid. Bilbo went after him, feeling the steady, unfriendly gaze of the Strider fixed in his back.

“I won’t make it,” he whispered intensely to the Wizard’s back. The old man, focused on the controls, didn’t spare a look in Bilbo’s direction, but he couldn’t let himself be discouraged. “I don’t… I don’t know how to speak with them. How to ask the right questions. And they hate me.”

“They don’t hate _you_ , Bilbo Baggins. They hate Smaug for what he did with their home and their lives, and the _normal people_ , for what they are still doing” the Wizard explained, his eyes still fixed in front of him. “And whether you make it or not… it’s all up to you, my dear boy.”

“But I don’t even know what questions to ask!”

“Then ask none,” the Wizard said curtly, and then the airship – or whatever they were in – plunged through the air. Bilbo, however, knew better. Or so he thought.

*

“Uhm.” Bilbo cleared his throat and looked down at the opening questions he prepared on the plane, and then back at the steampunk spectacles in golden frames. The man smiled and poked his top hat in a parody of courteous greeting. “What, um, was the best moment of your life?”

Not good, he decided immediately, that was too personal. The Leprechaun must have thought so too, as he didn’t answer – not immediately, after all. He took out a huge cigar out of his vest pocket (which was too small to hold it, Bilbo was sure of that), smelled it and lit slowly but surely. Smelling the blue smoke, he puffed deeply and finally looked at Bilbo with a lopsided grin.

“When I learned that my son’s superpower is speed. Super speed,” he added with a mixture of pride and relief in his voice.

“Why?”

The cigar and the smoke disappeared, and Bilbo remembered that he’s speaking with Leprechaun. Illusions were his strongest weapon.

“Because when these crazy norm fuckers come for him, he’ll beat them unconscious and run away before they can blink.”

*

“If you could give your younger self a piece of advice, what would it be?”

The silent, gloomy bloke in a purple lab coat – Bilbo learned from the others that his name was Alchemist – grumbled something and shrugged. He took a small stone and started to shape it into an ugly animal.

“I beg your pardon?”

“H-h-head p-prot-tection.” The Alchemist gestured towards the huge scar on his forehead. “Ac-cidents hap-pen.”

“But – but you don’t wear any helmet now!” Bilbo pointed out. In fact, none of the Company’s members did. If Bilbo’s cousin Lobelia, who happened to be a sanitary inspector, would see this, she’d die for apoplexy on the spot.

“T-too late for ad-dvice,” the Alchemist shrugged. The animal he formed turned out to be a dragon with toothy jaw and head split in two.

*

“If you could become any animal you wish, what would you be?”

“A chipmunk.”

Bilbo blinked. “A chipmunk,” he repeated mindlessly. The young man with the absurd name of Bearserker (which, according to Bilbo, couldn’t be explained even by the fact that its bearer was younger that Baccarat and it was his first action) did say this with absolute certainty. With a frown, Bilbo tried to focus on his face, but he could see only the fashionable glasses in thick black frames. The rest of the face was somewhat blurry.

“Yeah, a chipmunk, they’re totally cute. I’d take anything which isn’t a bloodthirsty bear monster, though.”

*

“Don’t even start with these damned questions of yours,” the Strider growled and looked away. Bilbo let out a long sigh but didn’t start the argument. Maybe the Wizard was right, maybe he didn’t need any questions at all.

When it came to the Strider, he might need some answers, though.

*

The Company settled the camp between the charred walls which, as Bilbo understood with a pang of terror and grief, were remains of the city of Dale, destroyed by the Dragon all these years ago. The Knitter has been right, reprimanding him before – there was nothing to protect with perimeter now. This empty place spooked him out; the mountain in the far horizon scared him even more.

Well, technically it wasn’t empty at all; the Company made the ruins seem more crowded than their numbers would suggest. Baccarat insisted he can create houses for everyone but was silenced by T-Rex reminding loudly a fairly embarrassing story featuring Baccarat and a set of clothes created with superpower. In the meantime the Alchemist started to pull small stone houses directly from the earth, grunting words in some foreign language Bilbo couldn’t even recognise. He observed it for a moment, but the dusk was falling quickly, so with a sigh he started to set up his tent. It was this fool-proof tent for dummies his father gave him all these years ago, so it practically set up by itself; yet when it came to securing the pegs, Bilbo found out that gained quite an audience so far.

“Oh my god,” Baccarat whispered, his voice full of unrestrained awe. “Did you just create it all by yourself?”

“Norms do tha’, ya know,” someone popped in before Bilbo uttered any reply. It was the man of the most colourful outfit of the whole Company, with yellow pumps and red hat with flaps and a faded feather to it. “They’re smart in their own way, makin’ things that let’em go around without powers.”

“Do you lads think I can make it fall?” This time is was Blackjack, who fixed his haze in the tent and seemed to try to hypnotize it. “Is it superpower-proof?”

“No, it’s just-just a tent,” Bilbo explained with a shrug, hammering the peg into the ground. “It’s nothing special, really, and it’s only waterproof, to some extent, I mean… I am babbling, right?”

“I don’t think they care,” the colourfully dressed man said with a shrug, and Bilbo couldn’t but agree with him. Blackjack and Baccarat seemed totally occupied with the tent, trying to make it fold again with their superpowers only. “They live among norms almost whole their lives, but yer ways still surprise’em.” He rubbed his nose just below the small black mask he was wearing, as if he wasn’t accustomed to it. Well, my dear friends, after so many years of break it could hardly shock anyone. “Me name’s the Pied Piper, by the way, master Baggins. Nice to meet ya.”

“I think you’re the only one who thinks so,” Bilbo admitted grimly, shaking the offered hand. “The others are just ignoring me or messing with my head.”

“Well, ya are the only norm here,” the Pied Piper explained, making himself comfortable against the remains of a stone wall. “Ya can’t begrudge’em their freedom,” he said, taking a beautifully carved flute out of his pocket. Before Bilbo could take a closer look on the item, the Pied Piper started to play a lively tune and Bilbo felt the pressing urge to join the Company in their preparations. He forgot Blackjack and Baccarat and their antics with his tent, and rushed towards the gathering among the stone shelters made by the Alchemist.

They were standing around or sitting on the ground, watching the Mountain with stern faces and knotted brows. Bilbo didn’t want to come too close; from his distance he could see their nervous hands clearly though. Alchemist was playing with a piece of charred wood, transforming it into various animals and magical creatures; the needles in Knitter’s hands were moving in a wild dance with royal blue yarn, and Ghost was mindlessly phasing through a stone wall he was sitting on. Bilbo could feel their tenseness leaking into him and barely suppressed a shudder.

Then, all of sudden, a child run by him, giggling wildly. Even in the darkness of the evening Bilbo could see the fiery red curls on the boy’s head, so similar to the ones of Leprechaun, and a homemade cape fluttering over the kid’s shoulders. Suddenly he felt a stone in his gut, and his knees apparently rebelled against him, because he dropped heavily on the ground. “Don’t,” he whispered to the laughing boy, trying to warn him against even pretending to be anything _super_ , but the kid just run away faster.

“Don’t ya take it too harshly, master Baggins.” A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and Bilbo all but squeaked. The Pied Piper sat down by him, the flute replaced by a long, curved pipe. “Those are only Leprechaun’s illusions. Misses home, poor lad. We all do.”

They looked on the Mountain for a long while, until it became almost invisible in the darkness.

“I have this nasty feeling that you all set up to mess with my head,” said Bilbo after a while, avoiding the Piper’s gaze. “Is it because I’m… how do you call it? A _norm_? Or have I done something…”

“Oh, cut it.”

Bilbo just barely manage to look around and see the Strider’s scowl before the man positively disappeared. He turned back to the Pied Piper, hoping for some explanations.

“He has a point though, lad,” Piper said after a while, puffing a circle of smoke up in the sky. “Ya norms always make it all ‘bout ya somehow.”

Bilbo closed his eyed and inhaled sharply. What he wanted right now was to yell at them all, turn back on his heel and wander to his home in Bag End, cursing all the way. Instead of that, however, he started to think.

He stayed up all night, looking at the Mountain glowing red with the Dragon’s fire. And before the dawn came, he was sure he found his answers.

*

You may wonder, my dear friends, why did the Company fear Smaug the Shapeshifter so much. Granted, he took the form of a dragon who can spit fire and has claws and teeth sharp as swords. But how come that the Earth’s mightiest heroes, even teamed together, couldn’t bring him down? What earned him the name _Terrible_?

The truth is, Smaug was only one face of the plague that fell upon the Earth. There were hundreds of his minions and allies, or simple thugs with a tinge of superpower within them, who relished in the havoc he wrecked and were more than happy to spread destruction on his bidding. The streets seemed to flood with supervillains, and the heroes couldn’t just fight them all. Smaug savoured the violence like the most exquisite gift which the fate could present him. Years and years of shifting from one shape to another distanced him from whatever human he had in him in the beginning, and when he became the Firedrake, there was only one thing he wanted: to dominate over the “norms” as naturally predestined half-gods. The army of supervillains which gathered around him started to riot, which soon turned into a regular war not only with people, but with the superheroes who wanted to protect them as well. The damages and casualties on all parties were beyond measure. Smaug was particularly hated, since – as a shapeshifter – he used people’s trust to enter the particularly vulnerable places and destroy them without mercy.

Even though the Smaug’s war started as a campaign against norms, the Worm and his people were particularly after the superheroes who called the error of his ways and defied his claim to supremacy over the peoples of Earth. Finally, Smaug took the form of the golden Firedrake to never shift his shape again. Until today it is not known whether he reached the limits of his power, or just preferred to stay a dragon. Either way, since then he was barely seen on Earth – only glimpses of gold high in the sky warned about the fire and death he had indeed become.

When everything seemed to be hopeless, a small army of superheroes managed to lure him to the ground and corner near the city of Dale. They gave Smaug and his army the greatest battle of superheroes know in history and – with huge efforts – they won over him. They weren’t strong enough to kill him, though. The neighbouring city of Erebor, which had been used as a trap to lure the Dragon, was torn from the earth and turned upside down to form a mountain which would be – so the people hoped – the monster’s eternal prison. The superheroes, beaten and scattered as they were, did know though that the day of Smaug’s awakening would come.

As you all know, my dear friends, they were not mistaken.


	2. Chapter 2

“You should leave us now.”

With a gasp Bilbo cracked his eyes open and blinked several times to regain focus. The tall, dark figure of the Strider cut out sharply from the greying sky. His mouth was pressed into a tight line, making the tiny wrinkles in the corners more visible. Still a bit caught in the dream, Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder how this face would change if the Strider was to smile. How the mouth would turn gracefully, and the wrinkles deepen.

You see, my dear friends, Bilbo has always had a soft spot for male smiles.

“Haven’t you eavesdropped enough to write that rubbish of yours?” Strider pressed, hovering over Bilbo.

“I don’t write rubbish!” Bilbo make an effort to clamber back on his feet with dignity and grace; he wasn’t sure about the results, though. “And I don’t eavesdrop. I gather materials on the Wizard’s bidding.”

“Then gather it quickly and go. We’ll have enough norms here by noon, we truly don’t need you hanging on here like a tick on a dog’s tail.”

“Wow, how poetic was that,” Bilbo snarled, and went by Strider with his chin up and his palms sweating only slightly. There was an adrenaline rush he didn’t feel for years and he felt surprisingly well about it. It must be what his mother described with such endearment, the moments when she became the Nightshade and could challenge the world. Bilbo couldn’t turn into anyone, but he felt like he could challenge anything and anyone on his way, the Strider included. “Now I can see why the Wizard didn’t entrust you with making good public for your case.”

“I still can’t see why he chose to trust _you_.”

“Oh, but you will.”

It was a fair point; Bilbo couldn’t see it much either. He wasn’t about to give that to the Strider though. Today wasn’t the day of _I’m-sorrys_ and _I-don’t-knows_ , today was the day of fighting and challenging.

While he was reluctant to admit it, the Strider might have had a tiny-teeny point when he accused Bilbo of eavesdropping though. During the night, when the Company planned the assault of the Smaug’s lair, he listened to their lowered voices, staring in the darkness with his eyes wide. The voices in the dark didn’t seem any _super_ to him, they seemed small and scared and _human_. Bilbo didn’t remember much from this whole plotting, their plans didn’t make sense to him, but he indeed had the feeling that he heard something he wasn’t privy to. The thought, heavy and uncomfortable, made him shift from foot to foot, looking for someone to apologize to. It wasn’t a good thought to start a day with.

Bilbo decided to cheer himself up with a breakfast, which was doubtlessly a way better thought so early in the morning. Eggs on bacon maybe, or at least a porridge and some toast. He was told yesterday that the Red Jequirity was the most exquisite cook, and he dearly hoped so. Especially after the Baccarat’s sandwiches which disappeared from his belly in the middle of the night, making it gurgle out its emptiness.

And yet, it seemed that the odds were not in his favour. Before he reached his tent, Bilbo heard a bunch of colourful curses which made him blush wildly.

“Where is he?! Where is he gone, this old deceiving fool!”

Bilbo cast a quick glance around, seeing the Company’s members looking at each other, confused. The Wizard’s pointy grey hat was nowhere to be seen, though. The Strider’s furious roaring echoed through the camp, accompanied by T-Rex’s low growls and Whisperer’s much quieter argument. They soon got interrupted however by a weird buzzing, which quickly turned to a wheezing sound of a superjet nearing to the Company’s camp. Bilbo covered his eyes with his hand and watched with awe how the machine changed its engines and landed gracefully near _Minty_. The Company’s airship seemed huge and shapeless compared to it, and even _Shadowfax_ would look somewhat old-fashioned and shabby in comparison, was it still here. Squinting his eyes harder, Bilbo managed to read the ship’s name, written in glittering letters on the satin body. _Silver Moose_ , it said, and Bilbo had to blink several times to make sure it isn’t another illusion. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person would name their superjet _Silver Moose_ – of all beings dwelling on earth, a moose didn’t seem particularly _super_ to him. On the other hand, though, the Company’s airship was named _Minty_ , for reasons Bilbo didn’t even want to mull over.

“Don’t stare at them like a junkie,” hissed the Strider just over Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo did his best not to startle, though without much success; he had this nasty feeling that before the month’s end he’d develop a serious case of paranoia. And as serious case of a teenage crush. He didn’t even notice Strider sneaking up to him. “Go to your tent and don’t you dare stick your nose out!”

Bilbo wanted to defy him, he really did, but there was insistence in Strider’s tone, a tinge of resentment that stopped him in the middle of a retort. He glanced once again at the _Silver Moose_ hovering gracefully over the ruins and rushed towards his tent. A sudden fear, hard to explain but overwhelming, settled in his stomach and made him nauseous. He could see the members of the Company running in the opposite direction and gathering around the Strider in a tight circle. Jumping into his hideout, Bilbo dug up his camera, took several deep breaths, and very carefully stuck his nose out.

The _Silver Moose_ finally landed, its door opened and several people jumped out of it, aiming their rifles at the Company without a word. There was a sudden commotion within the circle and someone struggled to the front of it. Bilbo squinted, but still couldn’t see too much; the colourful costumes of the Company’s members seen from afar melted into a rainbow amoeba. With shivering hands, he turned on his camera and set the zoom to the maximal value. The picture was shaking – or maybe he was? – but he could see the newcomers quite clearly: a dozen of young soldiers or paramilitary in deep-green uniforms. On the front of their group there was a fair-haired man who reminded Bilbo of these rom-com actors that were so popular recently, and a woman with a lovely copper braid and a glare which could turn into a stone.

“Out with you!” barked the Strider, his voice rough from the barely contained fury. Bilbo focused his camera on the back of Strider’s hood, but then snapped back to the newcomers, as the fair-haired man started to fleer loudly. Strider threw himself towards him with bare fists, but the clink of the woman’s rifle and his companions’ hands stopped him. “It’s _our_ fight, you bastards! Get OUT OF THE WAY!”

Then, the _Silver Moose_ ’ _s_ door opened again, and another person stepped out of the jet. Even from afar, Bilbo could feel the aura of authority coming from the man. Apparently, the members of the Company could feel it too, as the unfriendly murmurs were perfectly audible even here. He couldn’t hear a single word uttered by the newcomer, but it couldn’t have been kind, judging from the Company’s reaction. Bilbo saw a cloud of red smoke and heard a low, vibrating sound; the soldiers from the _Silver Moose_ and their leader crouched and felt on the ground, wailing loudly. There were some shouts among the Company members, a laughter, and then a short series of shots.

“It’s aheroline!” Bilbo recognized the Knitter’s voice, hitched now in sheer panic. “You– you bastards! Shooting aheroline!? At _us_!?”

Bilbo had absolutely no idea what on earth aheroline was, but he didn’t like the exchange at all, not to mention the clinking of the soldiers’ guns. Without much thinking he ran towards the gathering, his camera clutched firmly in his hand.

“Make room for the press!” he yelled atop of his lungs as he run, rushing as if his life depended on it. His appearance caused a confusion among both fighting parties, but for a heartbeat only. He hadn’t had a chance to see the dreaded aheroline or what did actually happen here, as he was tugged sharply by his shirt and pulled up with great strength.

“What did you say?” Bilbo realized that it was the soldier’s leader who held him, but he couldn’t focus on anything else that the hypnotising, pale eyes that were fixated on his face. “You’re what, a spy? Should I shoot you right here?”

In the background Bilbo could hear distinct howling of pain, a growled _Let him go, you bastard!,_ and some warnings about shooting and several flute notes. “I am not a spy, I have a clearance issued!”, he protested weakly, trying to find it in his pockets. He had one indeed, got one from the Wizard, with his photo, and holographic stamps, and all that. He didn’t even want to wonder where the Wizard took it from. “Please, let me go…”

The commander did as he was bid, shoving Bilbo off with a small disgusted gesture. Only now Bilbo recognized the silver badge on his chest – the simple yet elegant letters ELF, or Equality Law Forces, a special unit dedicated to enforcing the Normalisation Act. Then he looked up, not quite at the Strider or the Company, as if their sight repelled him too.

“This farce ends here,” he declared quietly, with a small hiss. It gave Bilbo the notion that he was enjoying himself, which made Bilbo slightly nauseous. “You have been arrested for practicing or intending to practice superheroism as defined in article three point one to four of the International Normalisation Act. Captain,” he turned his head slightly towards the copper-haired lady, “escort the arrestees to the vessel. In case of resistance you may use an injection of aheroline solution, according to specification in Decree about…”

The rest of the speech was drowned in a sudden deafening roar that seemed to make the sky and earth tear. Firstly Bilbo thought that it’s Captain Blackbird attacking their eardrums again, but he saw him cowering and protecting his ears like everyone else. Even the ELF commander dropped his indifferent façade, shocked and frightened by the sound like everyone around.

“It’s Smaug! The Worm is getting out!”

Indeed, the Mountain of Erebor shivered, and seemed to explode like a volcano. A swirling cloud of dark, thick smoke rose from its peak, but instead of going up, it started to crawl down the slope, covering it like a cloak. The ground started to crack from the mountain’s peak in direction of the Company. Bilbo scrambled to his feet to see if the dragon’s fire would spark the sky, as it did in his mother’s stories, but a heavy hand – T-Rex’s, apparently – grabbed his shoulder and dragged him in the middle of the circle.

“It’s not him,” the Knitter said, but there wasn’t a tinge of relief in his voice. The yarn from his cape moved up, like snakes raising their heads. Bilbo heard T-Rex’s low growl, and an unbelieving whistle from the Pied Piper. “It’s the Defiler! Kid, your glasses!” he called, turning toward a lanky figure that Bilbo could never really focus his eyes on and who was introduced to him as the Bearserker.

“Don’t you dare!” The commander stopped the commotion with a gesture, his eyes fixed on the Strider. “You are forbidden to undertake any action using your powers, or else you’ll be incapacitated using aheroline and electroshocks under the provisions of…”

“It is our home!” the Strider roared, and it seemed to Bilbo that his clenched fists started to gleam with unnatural, silvery shine. “It’s our right to defend it!”

“ _Freaks_ have no rights!”

For a second everything got still, even the menacing smoke seemed to stop its swirly movement. Then, the Company yelled in one voice of fury and threw themselves toward the commander. The Strider himself looked as if he was to strangle him with his bare hands. But suddenly there was a clank of a reloaded rifle and the red-haired ELF lady placed herself between the Company and her leader, aiming at the nearing fissure in the earth.

“With all due respect, sir,” she said in an even voice, “we should use aheroline on the more imminent danger.”

“Get back, Captain…”

The captain just smirked, and with that shot a series straight into the crack. An angry growl came from it and suddenly something started to climb out of it, bulge up in form of a white blob, larger and larger. Within mere seconds it took form of a pasty white humanoid, grinning wildly and hungrily.

“It cannot be…” Bilbo heard the Strider’s whisper, but he had no chance to ponder about these words because at the commander’s gesture the ELF soldiers started to shoot at the grinning face, and the Company moved to attack it as well. Without much thinking, he run after them, raising the camera and trying to take a shot of the creepy blob.

“Stop, you idiot!” T-Rex barked over him, his huge hand steadying Bilbo in place. In the corner of his eye he saw that with his other hand T-Rex stopped Bearserker, his blurry figure almost invisible compared to the green-and-gold-covered muscles. “And you too, tiny! Don’t… Baccarat!” He turned on his heel and run after Baccarat, who ran like a madman in front of the Company, leaving Blackjack only two steps behind. It didn’t make any sense that either of them was moving so quickly, but maybe it was all Blackjack’s doing.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind holding these for a moment?”

Bilbo blinked, and looked at the Bearserker, who was handing him a pair of fashionable vintage spectacles. The lad was ginger in the carrot-ish shade and heavily freckled – Bilbo wondered how he could have missed it – but he didn’t wear any kind of super-suit, unless the oversize cable jumper counted. Bilbo took the glasses, the Bearserker nodded and then roared like a wild, bloodthirsty beast. His fair hair started to get darker and thicker, his tiny frame barely exploded with muscles, and suddenly there were fur and claws and long fangs, and instead of a scrawny teenager there was a huge beast who flashed Bilbo a toothy smile and ran towards the fight with paws thundering on the ground.

Bilbo was left all alone. He heard the yells and the shots, and the screams of pain; he saw the shadows from the mountain crawl down and took humanoid form, similar to the white one, and he saw them torn apart by Bearserker’s claws, and hypnotised by the Pied Piper’s flute, and incapacitated by Captain Blackbird’s shrieks, and impaled by the woollen threads from the Knitter’s cape. He could swear there was an anvil falling from the bright sky once, too. And even though Bilbo knew that it was all for real, he even knew these people, he couldn’t shake of the feeling that he was watching an action movie. It seemed so _surreal_ , so improbable, even for someone who spent his childhood chasing the living shadows.

Suddenly he saw a short motion in the corner of his eye, and instinctively shielded his head with his arm, swaying out of balance. His fingers clenched on the camera and before he hit the ground, he heard a hiss and a clink.

When he looked up, he saw the Strider blocking a hit, his royal-blue cape fluttering majestically in the wind. But over his shoulder Bilbo saw a distorted white face which he saw hundreds of times on the telly and which frightened him to bits when he was a kid. The Defiler, an unimaginably brute serial killer and a loyal servant of Smaug. He could create shadowy copies of himself which fought as brutally as he did, if the Company’s and the ELF troop’s struggle was anything to judge by. He couldn’t but gasp with horror, but the Strider didn’t even spare a glance in Bilbo’s direction. “Run!” he ordered, more a growl than a voice, but Bilbo couldn’t. He was utterly paralysed by the sudden fear and his own helplessness, and the hissing monster clutched to the Strider didn’t help him overcome it. “Run, you fool!”

But Bilbo could just watch with his mouth agape as they both fought with fists and claws, growling like two wild beasts. It didn’t look good, though; the villain’s hits were quicker, surer and after one particularly strong swing the Strider almost lost his balance. The Defiler’s claws tore the cape on his shoulder, and only then Bilbo saw the intricate silver armour, covering the superhero’s body like second skin. The Defiler hissed at this, baring his teeth, visibly ducking from the flashing sun. That gave Bilbo an idea – with trembling fingers he took the camera up, set the flash to full power and took a series of shots.

The nasty creature yowled and cringed, the Strider let out a battle cry, and suddenly they disappeared in a cloud of greyish smoke. Bilbo blinked, stunned.

“Look out!”

He didn’t even had the time to duck away from the incoming blow when several yarn balls whooshed out of nowhere and formed a makeshift net which caught something heavy just inches from his head. The missile appeared to be a stone gargoyle with a deformed mug. The net disappeared, the threads gliding like small snakes, leaving the gargoyle on the earth, where it became a pasty shadow again. A second later Bilbo could just admire the Knitter hitting his enemies with pieces of yarn like they were lashes. He got quickly distracted though, because the Strider was nowhere to be seen. Clambering on his feet, he strained to spot the glimpse of silver armour, but he could see nothing shimmering except the _Silver Moose_. The _Silver Moose_ , which was hovering high over the ground, gaining height quickly.

Before he could call out the soldiers’ cowardice though, Bilbo got attacked by a giant truck. He had no idea where did the thing come from, but it was charging just at him, its lights blinding, its wheels crushing the ground mercilessly. On shaky legs he turned around, determined to run for his life even if it was pointless, and then he saw the stone gargoyle incapacitated earlier by the Knitter, raising its claws to Bilbo’s neck. The creature seemed to be hypnotised by the truck like a doe on a road, unable to move. Bilbo froze for a heartbeat, and then the gargoyle’s head fell off of his shoulders with a resounding thump. The Bearserker, who tore it off, roared wildly and then _winked at Bilbo_ , he was quite sure of that. The truck drove through them honking and disappeared when it hit the Bearserker’s body.

“Get out of here, boy!” The Leprechaun’s heavy hand landed on Bilbo’s back. With gruff expression, his eyes checking the battle ground constantly, he gave Bilbo a light push. “Move on, you’re putting everyone in dan…” He wasn’t able to finish the sentence, though, as the Mountain shook again, so powerfully this time that for a second Bilbo was sure that the earth was going to fall apart.

And it did. When the dust settled, there was a huge fissure gaping in the ground, stretching from the Mountain into the far horizon. Crying and screeching, the shadowy monsters turned and started to crawl towards the crevice, sliding through the thin grass and ashen earth. The Company tried to stop them – slow them down with a sharp tune of the flute or pin them to the ground with grass blades, but the shadows plunged into the fissure with a hiss and the earth closed after them in another, lighter shake.

“Go straight to hell!” T-Rex shouted, wiping blood from his forehead and cheeks. Ghost and Blackjack seconded him, but were quickly chastised by the Knitter. There was a commotion when everyone clambered to their feet and checked on the injuries, ordering one another to stand still and get patched up. But there was something seriously wrong with all this.

“Um, excuse me…” Bilbo said, looking around nervously and counting heads just to make sure. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but, uh… The Strider is gone!” he exclaimed finally, feeling utterly ignored. This managed to get him attention of the Company.

“What do you mean – _gone_?” asked the Whisperer very slowly. Blackjack and Baccarat turned towards Bilbo, their eyes wide with utter horror.

“I mean – he was fighting with the Defiler, you know, this white monster…”

“Yeah, we all know who the Defiler is!” T-Rex interrupted in a growl. Alchemist nodded and rolled his eyes, muttering something unintelligible.

“And they were fighting, and, and… And then he disappeared into thin air!” Bilbo blurted out, throwing his arms in the air dramatically. The Company froze for a heartbeat, looking at him, unblinking. And then something caught Bilbo’s shirt at the collar and lifted him up.

“Are you _mad_?!” Blackjack jelled, his face only inches away from Bilbo’s. “Do you think it’s funny to scare the shit out of us, you damned _norm_?!”

“But…”

“Of course he disappeared! He’s the Strider, that’s what he _does_!”

Bilbo didn’t figure out the connection between these two facts though, because the Blackjack’s backlash chose this precise moment to kick in. Quite literally at that, since something big and heavy appeared just behind Blackjack’s back and fell onto the boy, swaying him off of balance and pushing to Bilbo. All the weight fell on Bilbo’s belly, squeezing all the air from his lungs. He tried to call for help, but it came out as barely audible mewling. When he finally was put up to his feet, the relief flooded over him as he saw the Strider whole and hale, except for several deep scratches across his arms and forearms. There were many things he wanted to say just now, but they made such a mess in his head that he couldn’t form a single sentence. Judging from the Company’s faces, focused solely on the Strider, it wasn’t that big a loss though.

“Did you miscalculate the trajectory again?” asked T-Rex in a low voice, but the Strider pretended not to hear him.

“I couldn’t use my power,” he said grimly, looking at the Mountain with a frown. “I slipped the armour for a second, he clawed into me, and suddenly nothing worked. I don’t know why, but I don’t like it, it’s almost like the ELF crap,” he added with revulsion all over his face. Bilbo proceeded this new piece of information slowly, but it seemed that the Company also needed some time to let it sink in.

“Ta-da-da, now we’re drowned in shit.”

“Ghost!” The Knitter tried to smack Ghost in the head, but his hand went through and he only managed to poke the Pied Piper’s injured arm. “Oh bugger, why can’t you even put some bandage on it!”

“Now now, calm down, laddie.”  The Whisperer patted the Knitter’s shoulder gently and this was sufficient to ease some tension in him. Even the wool skeins dangling from his cape seemed to relax.

“It’s n-no good he r-ran,” the Alchemist stuttered, gesturing at the remains of the crack in the ground. “The g-g-ground is vib-brating all the t-time. The W-w-w…” he stopped and made a helpless gesture towards the Mountain. He didn’t need to finish though, they all understood all too well that the Worm was regaining his consciousness.

“Patch up,” muttered the Strider after a long while. “We need to do something before the beast wakes up.”

“What we need to do is to call for backup,” the Whisperer said, shooting the Strider a heavy glare. Bilbo wondered if he was using his superpower at the moment, but even if he did, Strider seemed unaffected.

“What kind of backup?” he snarled, turning from the Mountain to face the old man. There was something wild in his eyes, something Bilbo didn’t like at all. “The one who disappears when we get down to business like the Wizard did, or maybe the one who will stab us in the back like the ELF fuckers?”

“The one who can control earthquakes, to get to Smaug at our own terms” the Whisperer said, raising his brows. At that Blackjack and Baccarat moaned in unison, and Bilbo could swear that T-Rex smiled fondly for a second which made him look even scarier than usual. The Strider made a face and and turned back to the Mountain.

“Do as you please, but do it quickly, old man,” he grumbled, but Bilbo was sure that he wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended.

*

As it turned out, the backup appeared way sooner than anyone would think, and in the most unexpected form at that. Frankly speaking, Bilbo didn’t even have the chance to form any expectations, but it’s hard to blame him, my friends. What would you do if you saw the nightmares of your childhood dreams creeping out of shadows and hovering over you, aiming to kill? Or if you felt the earth shivering stronger and stronger each second, nearing the moment when the Worm would break free? He was scared.

And so, to his great surprise, was the Company.

Bilbo might not excel in many fields, but he was perceptive, and he could distinguish nervous anticipation from fear. He saw the Alchemist stroke the scar on his forehead, mumbling quietly, and force the weeds and stones to take the most unusual, horrendous shapes. He saw Captain Blackbird, patching up Baccarat’s leg, with his palms shaking as soon as he let go of the instruments. He saw the Knitter taking up a half-finished sock and furiously counting stitches over and over again, each time with different result. What Bilbo expected – what any _normal_ person in his place would expect from superheroes preparing for a battle – was anticipation, the silent planning, maybe some nervousness before the great fight. Instead of that, he saw something as plain and human as fear.

What bothered him though was the source of this terror. Azog was obvious, Smaug even more so, but it seemed to Bilbo that there was more than that. Everyone, even Blackjack and Baccarat, glanced nervously in the sky from time to time. They feared the ELF, too – and the aheroline, whatever it was.

“A poison, laddie, designed to weaken and kill us.” The Whisperer’s gentle voice almost caused Bilbo a heart attack. The old man smiled at him kindly and went to the Strider, who earlier refused to have his wounds cleaned, and still sulked keeping his distance from everyone else.

“How did you… Oh, never mind.” Bilbo sighed and shook his head. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of going to the Strider and thanking him for saving his life, like he did with the Leprechaun and Bearserker, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The Strider didn’t care for his gratitude anyway, he had a dragon and an army equipped with poisonous weapons to worry about. His ponderings however were broken by a wheezing sound of a small silver shuttle coming down from the sky like a shooting star.

“It’s the damned ELFs again!”, Blackjack growled, automatically putting himself as a shield between the shuttle and Baccarat. “Can I take them down?”

“Oh please do, kid,” Ghost said grinning wickedly, which made the fresh cut on his cheek swell with blood. He made a weird gesture and a small, pointy knife appeared in his hand. “I think I owe one of them.”

With a nod Blackjack fixed his gaze in the shuttle which started to sway in the air, but then it speeded, changed the trajectory a bit and – despite Blackjack’s visible efforts – managed to land without a crash. Blackjack cursed loudly, but there was no one to chastise him, as everyone rushed towards the shuttle. Even Bilbo followed, partially out of duty and partially in a vain hope to help with mediation. The shuttle entrance opened, but – contrary to Bilbo’s expectations – there wasn’t a soldier troop marching out of it. There appeared a dirty grey rag on a stick instead.

“I come in peace!” someone shouted from the inside and Bilbo recognized the voice of the red-haired ELF captain. “Repeat: I come in…”

“Then you can go to hell in peace too!”

“We all will if you won’t shut up and listen,” she barked out; the sentence, however, seemed to miss _you freaks!_ at the end. Bilbo could see that the Company noticed it. “It’s about Azog,” the captain added, throwing the rag and the stick out and jumping out of the shuttle. A sniping rifle hung from her shoulder, and she had at least three handguns strapped to her body. Whatever her intentions were, no one could say she came unprepared.

“What about him?”

“He’s stuffed with aheroline,” she explained, adjusting the straps of the rifle. From up close she seemed even more intimidating. “When he was imprisoned after the last battle with Smaug, he has been experimented on – I don’t know the details, I only know that aheroline has been developed basing on this research. He should be…”

“Dead,” growled the Strider. “He should be dead! Why did you let him go?!” The captain shook her head and wanted to retort something, but she didn’t get a chance. “You have the guts to terrorize people, to shoot aheroline at kids, but you couldn’t finish off one mad fucker?!”

“I’m not sure if they could kill him.” Her voice was very calm, as if the Strider didn’t just shouted at her, but there was a tinge of a threat in it. “If you listened to me, superman, you’d hear that Azog _absorbed_ aheroline. His body accepted everything, and didn’t weaken. It… he transformed it. I think – I am sure he uses it now. He can block superpowers,” the captain finished and looked on the whole Company, as if to check if her message sunk in well. She seemed pleased with the effect, but it didn’t last long.

“And you are telling it us why exactly?”, asked Blackjack in an accusing tone. All other things aside, Bilbo could easily guess that he was angry because she outmanoeuvred his probability trick. “Do you want to check if your sick shit works on us well?”

“I am here, because if we don’t do something quickly, Smaug will get out – and then general Thranduil will convince the White Council to authorise the H-bomb usage, and to displace the superhero people to camps. This is, you know, the plan B.”

There was a second of dead silence, and then everyone started to yell, ask, cry in protest. The captain put up her hands, as if to try to defend herself, but she had to back off from the human wave. Bilbo didn’t join the Company. He was completely mortified, the ELF lady’s words rang in his head again and again. This was almost too cruel to be real – _almost_ , because Bilbo remembered the persecution after the Smaug’s fall. The weapon of mass destruction, the camps – is sounded impossible, but Bilbo knew it wasn’t and that made him too terrified to think properly. He remembered the horror of the days of Smaug’s rule and he was sure that the authorities would stop at nothing to prevent it from reoccurring.

Not that Bilbo criticised the intention – he would do all he could to stop the Dragon’s rise. But not at such cost.

“Oi, hack. We’re moving.”

He gasped and jumped in place; the Strider loomed over him like a shadow. His arm was in a makeshift dressing and he looked as if something incredibly heavy was dropped on his shoulders. Not that Bilbo didn’t understand it, of course, but it was just very hard to look at it and couldn’t do a single thing to help.

“Of course, straightaway,” he hurried, avoiding the Strider’s glance. He wished that there was anything he could say, but nothing came to him. “If I am not a burden to you, that is. I wouldn’t like – I mean – if there is anything I can do to help…”

“Do you wield any weapon?”

“Only a pen, and even that is a metaphor. And a camera, but that’s a new skill,” he added with an empty smile. The Strider didn’t smile back, which was a bit disappointing, even if it wasn’t a surprise. His next words, however, did shock Bilbo deeply.

“I cannot guarantee your safety,” he said gruffly, and it seemed that this time he was the one looking everywhere but at Bilbo. “And I won’t be responsible for your fate.”

“Understood,” muttered Bilbo, though he didn’t actually understand. Why on earth did the Strider need to justify himself in it? It was kind – kinder that Bilbo expected, anyway. “And – what about the ELF?” It was a shock even for himself that he actually dared to ask. But since he didn’t get killed in an instant, he pressed further. “Is she coming with us?”

“At least she can shoot.”

*

Marching up the Mountain was like wandering through an old graveyard; the remains of the city that had once flourished here were scattered everywhere and reminded of the great sacrifice of the people who lived there. Bilbo couldn’t but wonder whether they all managed to escape before the city of Erebor was buried under a mountain. The images of people trapped between the falling earth and the roaring fire wouldn’t leave his head and made him slightly dizzy.

Not dizzy enough, though, not to notice several black points hovering over the Mountain.

“They were quick, huh,” the ELF captain muttered. “Let’s hope they won’t start from shooting us like ducks.”

“Why should you worry?” Bilbo wasn’t sure who asked that, Blackjack or Baccarat. Both trailed behind the ELF, watching her each move intensely. “Do you kill your own team mates on a regular basis?”

“When they defy orders and desert it can happen, yes.”

The captain didn’t say anything else and the boys didn’t press her – for a moment at least. The question which they really wanted to ask as much as Bilbo did – why did you leave your comrades and joined us, you, an ELF – was omitted like something embarrassing. Bilbo could almost feel it, worming itself into everyone’s brains. Some of his colleagues loved such questions, they loved the moment when the interviewee starts to writhe from discomfort and finally spills the truth, but to Bilbo they were some kind of a psychological weapon. He could see clearly that the ELF lady used it very efficiently against herself.

The points in the sky didn’t move. Bilbo wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign. He knew for certain that the Strider didn’t count on any help, whether from the norms, the Wizard, or the mysterious backup that the Whisperer mentioned a while ago. And yet he couldn’t shake off the thought that some help would not go amiss. Maybe if someone could convince the ELF troops to focus on the Dragon instead of taking out the Company too…

Out of a sudden, the earth shook again and broke just below the Company’s feet. Pasty white figure of Azog the Defiler jumped out of it, with teeth and claws ready to tear, and ran towards T-Rex. With a mighty roar T-Rex swung his fist, readying himself for a blow which didn’t come. Growling and spitting, Azog froze mid-air, visibly fighting to free himself but to no avail.

“Hit him now, T-Rex, what are you waiting for!”

T-Rex grinned and hit Azog indeed; at the same moment, Blackjack and Baccarat gave out a small but terrified yelp. From behind a stone wall marched a fair knight, clad in intricate silver armour and dark blue cape, with a silver mask on her face. “Don’t stare at me, take care of this scum as long as the Nightshade is courteous enough to hold him for you.”

This time it was Bilbo who yelped; luckily for him, the Company was too occupied with beating down Azog to pay attention. Yet, his shock didn’t go completely unnoticed.

“A friend of yours?” The ELF captain asked, observing out of the corner of her eye how Azog, completely vulnerable without his shadow copies, is being tied up and incapacitated.

“Sort of.” Bilbo averted his eyes, seeing Bearserker readying himself for a particularly nasty blow.

 Finally the Defiler hit the ground, accompanied with cheer, and the Nightshade came out from behind the stone wall too. She wasn’t in her superhero costume Bilbo remembered, probably it wouldn’t fit her after all these years; instead, she wore purple leggings and tunic which resembled it close enough, and her old mask. Only the ribbon belt was missing, and Bilbo started to check all his pockets looking for it. Nightshade winked at him and made a dismissing gesture, but he wanted her to have this ribbon. Without that her image seemed incomplete.

“Oh god, it’s you!” The ELF lady exclaimed, pointing at the Nightshade. “It’s you who helped me with these thugs! I couldn’t find you to say thank you, I’m…”

“Don’t mention it, dear,” the Nightshade waved a hand, clearly embarrassed with the sudden interest she drew to herself. “Nightshade, at your service.”

“Tauriel Mirkwood.”

“Oh, I’m glad that you found a new friend!” Last but not least, the Wizard joined the gathering, coming out of nowhere. “The more the merrier! I hope that you came up with a plan too.”

As always, the Wizard’s appearance caused a commotion which was impossible to follow. Bilbo observed from a small distance how the friendly group of (mostly) responsible adults suddenly turned into a bunch of hyperactive teens jumping to each other’s throats, shouting over one another and totally unwilling to cooperate.

“Give me my ribbon back, you kleptomaniac,” his mother muttered to his ear out of the sudden, and Bilbo all but jumped in place. “I got it from your father as a lucky charm, and I may trip over my own feet without it.”

“Sorry I took it without asking.” He pressed the ribbon in her hands, and got back to watching the discussion, which now resembled a super-wrestling match much more than debate over a strategy. “Is it always like this?”

“Well, superheroes are independent souls,” the Nightshade agreed with a broad smile. Bilbo followed her gaze and saw the majestic knight smacking Blackjack and Baccarat on the heads, growling _In the field you call me ‘Lady Disaster’, not ‘Mum’, understood?_ , which made him smile too. “The Company working together has always been an exception.”

“But you came here, to fight along them.”

“I came because Disaster asked me. And because I want to make sure you go back home safely.”

Bilbo wanted to say something – probably apologise for making her and father worry, but it seemed that the Company reached some sort of conclusion.

“So,” the Wizard said, looking at the sulking Strider, “we are not going to relocate the Mountain to the Mariana Trench, blowing his head up with noise, changing the probability to make Smaug blow up himself, burying him under the next layer of earth and stone, phasing through to him and ripping his head off, putting him to eternal sleep, or shooting at him till he fucking dies. Did I skip anything?”

“Yeah, we are not going to convince him that he should kill himself, using either neurotoxins or illusion.”

“Thank you, Knitter. So, what do we do? There isn’t much time, you know.”

“We can’t do anything!” The Strider finally snapped. He ran towards the Wizard as if he was to hit him, but he just hit the stone by him instead. “We can’t kill the Worm – we know it, we _tried_. We took out Azog by surprise, but the damned Drake has no weak points, no faults, no dents in its fucking armour!”

“Everyone has their weak points, laddie,” soothed the Whisperer. “We just never had the chance to learn them, chasing the beast through the skies.”

“We could do it now,” the Nightshade interjected. “He’s still sleeping – one of us could go to him, check if the armour didn’t fade out with time… anything. We can’t kill him, but we can form a net to hold him, or slow him down at least.”

“I can create a crevice to the cave where he lies,” Lady Disaster declared, and tapped the ground lightly with her foot. Small breaks started to appear in the stone wall and grow slowly to form a narrow tunnel. “But I don’t know who can go – he knows everyone of us or will recognize the superpower anyway, and he’ll smell aheroline on you straightaway,” she nodded towards Tauriel, who leaned over her rifle with furrowed brows. “We must choose someone quick and clever, and frankly, I don’t see many candidates here.”

They started to shout over one another again, trying to prove Lady Disaster wrong. Ghost was already one foot in the tunnel when he was dragged away by both the Knitter and Bearserker. T-Rex was ready to go too, but he was apparently too huge for the entrance. Blackjack and Baccarat were eager and ready each – Baccarat even created them head torches and helmets – but one look from Lady Disaster was sufficient to stop them. Bilbo observed it for a long while, feeling something  shifting within him, and then said loudly and without hesitation:

“I will go.”

He must have said it louder that he thought he did, because for a second everyone went still. He crouched under the shocked, expectant gazes of the Company, but he didn’t waver.

“I will go,” he repeated, and was surprised that his voice didn’t tremble. He took the torch from Baccarat’s hands and stepped forward. “I’m not sure how – but I’ll do it. I’m not a superhero, and I didn’t use aheroline. I am the best option.”

“No,” protested the Nigthshade, her face suddenly chalk-white. “No, I forbid you, Bilbo. You will stay here and…”

“It’s our only option.” The Wizard, clearly shocked too, made a placating gesture, but it didn’t work.

“There are always options!” The Nightshade was furious now, hissing like the Worm himself. “He can’t even – he’s helpless! I will not see my child go die in the Dragon’s den!”

“Your _child_?!”

Oh, it wasn’t good; it was very bad indeed. Bilbo could heard the hurt, surprised voices surrounding him. He could understand the Company, of course – had he told them about his relation to Nightshade sooner, he would give them a token of trust. As a superheroine’s son, he should know how important it was, and yet he lied by omission, he fooled them, and he could understand their sentiment very well. Thus there was no other option for him, he had to go to bring the Dragon’s secrets out, had to learn his weaknesses; if there was any way to prove himself to the Company, that was it.

“I will come back to you, mum,” he promised, and hugged the Nightshade briefly. He felt something cold on his wrist and looked down to see his mother’s ribbon wrapped around it as a lucky charm. “Just have the net ready.”

“Of course you will, otherwise I’ll desecrate your remains and give all your books, comics and action figures to charity,” she replied, still pale and wide-eyed, and he was grateful for the fake light-heartedness. He went to the crevice in the stone wall, inhaled deeply, and without looking back he went into the darkness.

After several long whiles of squeezing himself through the tiny corridors and silent cursing Lady Disaster’s carefulness, he was almost certain he got stuck. He managed to force half of his body through, but the rest didn’t want to follow. Grunting and cursing, he finally managed to free himself, but the force he used made him sway, trip and tumble down the subsiding path, which became surprisingly wide here. When he finally stopped, gasping and moaning, Bilbo took a look around and almost died of a heart attack.

He was facing Smaug the Terrible, the Firedrake, the embodied horror. Who, to Bilbo’s utter panic, wasn’t asleep – he was watching Bilbo with his heavy-lidded golden eyes.

“Well,” the creature rumbled, and the cave started to shake. “I must say that after all these years I hoped they will send someone better suited. What is your superpower?”

“I-I-I’m not a s-superhero,” Bilbo managed through his clattering teeth. “I-I came here for an interview, o Smaug the T-Terrible.”

The creature hissed and then started to laugh – it sounded more like a thunder, though. Pebbles and clumps of earth started to fall from the vault and walls of the cave.

“An interview! Do you deem me a fool, human? Do I not know that you hate me and wish only to kill me, little creatures? Oh, I know it well, I hate you too! But…” The Dragon moved slowly, and its face neared Bilbo, presenting a set of huge white teeth. Even in the pale light of torchlight he was glittering gold everywhere. “Whatever you do, puny humans, I am still better at killing.” A huff of hot air from his nostrils made Bilbo cough; it smelled of smoke and blood. Bilbo’s knees chose this moment to go all wobbly, and he had to grasp the stony wall behind him to prevent kneeling in front of Smaug. “Well, aren’t you screaming, human? Won’t you beg for your life?”

The clear disappointment and offence in the Worm’s voice gave Bilbo and idea.

“O Smaug, now when I saw your terrifying grace, when I was the first to see the return of our king and leader, I can go in peace and happiness,” he blurted out in the most inspired and delighted tone he could muster. The Worm, who observed him with hungry smile, blinked slowly and huffed out the smoke again. He didn’t yet move to bite off Bilbo’s head, which gave him the courage to go on. “After you have been trapped in this mountain, there was no freedom on this earth. All free spirits who admired you and followed you were helpless without their leader.” The more he said, the easier the story was to spin. Bilbo always had a knack for a little drama – telling you the truth, my friends, he was a bit of a drama queen – and he could easily use it now. The Worm observed him with his half-closed eyes, seemingly calmed down with the story. As he spun the tale, Bilbo tried to look for anything which could be used to defeat the beast, but for now he managed only to see thousands and thousands of gold scales, glowing in the cold light of his torch. “That is why I came here, o Smaug. To ask you to lead us against our oppressors. I am but mere human, and all I can do is to praise your glory. Our master, please rise and conquer!”

“You,” hissed the Dragon, and pulled his head up, showing his long black throat, “are a little liar. You thought I will fall for it, human? You came here, stinking of aheroline, human weapon and superpower, and thought that I’ll go straight into your trap?” He started to move his wings, quicker and quicker, and the cave walls were quaking and cracking seriously now. “You want me to rise and conquer, human? Your wish shall be granted!”

With that, he pushed the vault with his forepaws and to Bilbo’s terror it broke open. Stones and earth fell down on Bilbo, almost burying him alive, but somehow he squeezed himself into a small hole to avoid it. The Dragon spread his golden wings and soared into the air.

“I am fire! I am _death_!” he roared. And then screeched, terrified and shocked. The net the Company created must have worked. It was good, because Bilbo needed as much time as he could get. He had a piece of information to share.

“Bilbo! Bilbo, are you there!?”

“Here!” he called back, trying not to lose his balance. The earth was shaking all the time – Lady Disaster must be doing this to destabilise Smaug and move the ground from his paws. “I’m here!”

“Right – oh holy fucking shit!”

It was the Strider. He came for Bilbo, right here, into the Dragon’s den, and of course miscalculated the trajectory. He landed on the opposite site of the cave, and hit himself on the head with a protruding stone. Looking nervously on the Worm’s claws tearing the ground around, he ran towards Bilbo, grabbed his arm and teleported them both without stopping. A heartbeat later they both tumbled down the stony slope of the Mountain.

“Th-thank you!” Bilbo gasped out, and then, not waiting for the Strider reaction, “can you teleport me to a place I think of?”

“I can’t just teleport you, I must go with you,” the Strider replied quickly. He didn’t ask if Bilbo learned something important – he either could read Bilbo’s face, or trusted him enough. He just glanced over his shoulder to the Dragon thrashing around in the net. Or nets, really - from what Bilbo could see, there was one created by Baccarat, and a yarn one from the Knitter, and one made by the Alchemist; Smaug, constantly fooled by common efforts of the Leprechaun, the Pied Piper, Whisperer and Red Jequirity, didn’t even know where to hit. Bearserker and T-Rex didn’t seem to have such doubts, though. “Where is it?”

“Up here,” Bilbo gestured to the ELF planes, hovering over the Mountain closer and closer. The _Silver Moose_ could be recognised even from afar, glistening in the setting sun.

“What!?”

“Do you trust me?” It was bold of Bilbo to ask and he knew that. He was a norm, he didn’t tell the Strider about his mother, and he did ask him to go in his enemy’s domain. On the second thought, _bold_ didn’t even start to describe the problem.

“Yes,” declared the Strider, and grabbed Bilbo’s arm. In the next second they disappeared.

They didn’t appear on the board of the _Silver Moose_. It should be obvious that they wouldn’t – maybe it was partly due to Bilbo’s bad luck, or the Strider’s inability to control his own power – but I can tell you, my friends, that it shocked them nevertheless. Instead of general Thranduil and his troop which they had already met, they landed in a small vessel with no real authorities to talk to. There was however a number of soldiers, more than eager to imprison a superhero. They were all ELFs, after all.

“Stop, you idiots! Let go!” growled the Strider, fighting with three of them at once. Bilbo, easily incapacitated by only one soldier, went for different tactic.

“I need to talk to your leader!” he shrieked so loudly that even Captain Blackbird would be proud of him. The soldier who caught Bilbo suddenly dropped him on the floor and aimed a handgun at him, all in one efficient movement.

“Then talk quickly,” he said through gritted teeth. The Strider went still for a moment, and Bilbo could hear his own heart racing in his throat.

“I need you to drop the bomb down there,” Bilbo said, looking straight in the soldier’s eyes.

“What!? You traitor!” the Strider bellowed, pushing and fighting again. “You little scum, you…”

“Give him a shot,” the leader ordered, and before the Strider figured out what is happening, he received a dose of aheroline in his neck. He dropped out straightaway, which made Bilbo think that there must have been more than only aheroline in the syringe. “Now, you were saying?”

“Smaug, he has a weak spot,” Bilbo blurted out, looking at the Strider. “His scales stop almost everything, but he doesn’t have them on his throat, where his fire is born. You hit it with aheroline, and you kill him. Probably,” he added after a second, under the soldier’s heavy gaze.

“And why I should believe you? Even your comrade doesn’t seem too keen to trust you.”

“My mother is down there.” He should have been ready for this question, but he wasn’t. He should have known that the hatred between normal people and superheroes was too deep to be overcome, even if there was a common enemy. “My friends… Everything. I need you to save them, sir – I need you to get them out of here and kill the Dragon.”

After a while the man dropped his gun and Bilbo let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. At the calling gesture he followed the man to the helm and stood there, waiting.

“ _Esgaroth_ doesn’t have bombs, we are a supporting unit,” he explained, looking at the fighting Dragon. “We have only a missile with aheroline core. Only one.” He buried his face in his hands. “I should call general Thranduil.”

“Please don’t. He has the bombs, he’ll kill them all,” Bilbo whispered. “They are people, just like us, sir, you can’t…”

The man just nodded heavily. “I know. My youngest has just been diagnosed as S-positive.”

Bilbo couldn’t suppress a shudder. S-positive, carrier of superpower – in Bilbo’s childhood it was like a sentence. He briefly wondered what it meant now. “The missile… Maybe that’s enough?”

“Maybe. Bain!” A young man appeared in the entrance, bolt upright. “Take the helm. Manoeuvre so that we face the Dragon directly. And don’t change course, no matter what. You…,” he gestured towards Bilbo, “stay here. Don’t do anything stupid.”

So Bilbo stayed and looked at the boy at the helm; his sure hands moved the _Esgaroth_ towards the Dragon quickly and smoothly. There was sudden clatter below the floor and the engine hummed louder.

“Colonel is in the weapons control,” Bain said quietly, his eyes focused on the Dragon’s head. Comm buzzed and beeped, but he didn’t make a move to enable it. “He’ll shoot the beast down.”

Bilbo hoped so too – and wanted to say so, but then he heard a yell and a series of thuds, and the Strider appeared in the cockpit.

“You sick bastard,” he growled, looking only at Bilbo. “You traitor, you… Your own mother is down there! Are you nuts or something!” At that he grabbed Bilbo’s arm and squeezed it hard. Shrieking in pain, Bilbo noticed that the Strider’s fingers were covered in his silver skin-armour; the pressure made his skin break and bleed. The ribbon Belladonna wrapped around his wrist was quickly soaked in red. “If they shoot, I swear, I will kill you…”

“He’s breaking free,” whispered Bain, who ignored both Strider and Bilbo so far. They stood still, petrified by the view of the Dragon breaking the nets one by one with a triumphant roar. He was still held by the ground, but it was a matter of seconds now.

And then _Esgaroth_ shook mightily and the missile appeared in the view. The Strider and Bain both cursed quietly; Bilbo just watched the bullet speed towards the Dragon’s head. And then he saw it.

“It would miss,” he whispered, not believing his own words. Smaug broke the last net and spat a fountain of fire towards the superheroes below. No one would stop him now.

But then, in some miraculous way, the missile corrected its trajectory. Bilbo saw it but could not believe his own eyes. Whether it was the Strider, teleporting it only so, or Blackjack playing with probability, or his own mother dragging it to the right course by its shadow – Bilbo had no idea. The only thing he knew was that the missile hit Smaug in the black trail on his neck, and the Worm fell down with a pained roar. Then, Smaug disappeared; Bilbo could only guess that he transformed back to his natural human form.

“We did it,” Bain whispered, and then he yelled atop of his lungs. “We did it! Smaug fell!”

Bilbo, who still didn’t quite believe it, turned to the Strider to confirm his own joy. But all he saw was grim, shut-down face and a quick movement; he felt a flash of pain where his arm had been hurt and then they teleported. Against all odds, they landed precisely where they should be – by Smaug’s carcass.

“Bilbo! Love, I thought you’re stuck here!” Nightshade rushed to him, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. “I though you’re wounded or killed… What – what happened here?” She paused, looking at his bleeding arm.

“Mum, I just…”

“He betrayed us,” the Strider growled, gaining the attention of the rejoicing Company at once. “He went to the norms and asked them to drop a bomb here. ”

“That cannot be true!” Nightshade protested. The Whisperer, Baccarat and Blackjack seconded her, and even Bearserker gave a supporting roar. “Bilbo would never…”

“I did,” Bilbo said very quietly. “I came to norms, mum, I asked them to shoot the Dragon’s weak spot. Strider got caught and tranquilised with aheroline because of me. I’d suggest using a bomb, but they didn’t have one,” he added, looking up at the _Esgaroth_ , now joining the squadron of ELF ships. “I thought that they would get you out first, but I was probably just stupid. I could have kill you all.”

“But he actually saved everyone instead,” the Wizard interjected airily. “Didn’t he, Strider?”

The Strider didn’t reply, he just shot Bilbo a glance that would haunt him in his worst nightmares, full of contempt, hatred and disappointment. _I trusted you_ , his eyes said, _I followed you where you asked me to, and you were ready to sacrifice me and mine._ That, Bilbo knew, could never be forgotten.

“Get out of here. I don’t want to see you ever again,” he demanded, and turned to Smaug’s small, bloodied body. Bilbo wanted to say something that would redeem him in the Company’s eyes, but judging from the hurtful looks he didn’t have much chance. So he just turned back and wandered down the Mountain, feeling empty as if the Dragon’s fire burned his heart out.


	3. Chapter 3

The small room upstairs was quiet and dark, lit only by the cold bluish glow of the screen.

 _When I was a little boy, I had a dream_ , Bilbo typed slowly, _I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted a fluttering cape, an intimidating superpower, and I wanted to save people in need. But I couldn’t – not only become a superhero, of course, but I couldn’t even dream. It has been taken from me._

He closed his eyes, squeezing his pained arm absent-mindedly. The image of the Strider, pained and furious and so hateful, hit him like a stone. Bilbo shook his head and focused back on the screen. He really should write it soon; he can’t let these people down only because he was a foolish, naïve sucker. They deserved more.

He read the paragraph and almost heard the Strider’s sneer, and the Pied Piper sighing in disappointment.

Yes, they deserved way more.

With an angry huff, Bilbo deleted the whole paragraph and, not taking fingers off of the keyboard, wrote another one. _This isn’t the story of heroes, super or not, as it’s not heroes who defeated Smaug the Terrible. It is the story about human beings. Powerful, valiant, virtuous, and so_ different _– but deeply human nonetheless._

He typed, deleted and re-typed throughout the night. The voices in his head did not return. At the break of dawn, when he finally rose from his seat, he realised that he wasn’t happy with it at all. He threw himself on his bed, eyes opened widely, and tried to call the Company with his thoughts but, to his despair, he couldn’t. Never in his whole life did Bilbo feel so abandoned, so _barren_ like he did now. The loneliness, the injustice of it all was truly devastating and I am sure, my dear friends, that you won’t judge poor Bilbo too harshly for the few tears he shed. His heart might break if he didn’t.

*

After sending his first article about the Company for publication Bilbo felt mostly relief. He wasn’t eager to see it printed, nor proud of himself, despite his parents’ insistence that he did something important and good. Bilbo didn’t see it that way; for him it was more like taming his biting conscience. He knew that there would be reaction to his words, and a powerful one – it couldn’t be any other way when it came to the superheroes and supervillains, could it? – but he wasn’t ready to face it just yet. So he sent the files to the editor, shut off his computer and phone, and practically moved out of the house to his parents’ garden. There he laid under a cherry tree, observed the small cherries blushing shyly from between the leaves, and tried to remember and forget at once.

What disturbed him mostly was the fact that he missed the Company – indeed, he missed them dearly. Bilbo was never the one to make new friendships quickly – I will you know, my friends, that in fact it was rather the opposite; while always mild-mannered and kind, he never was very close to people around him. Maybe it was because he was too shy – or because he had too much secrets to keep. Either way, it came as a huge surprise to him that after only a couple of days he got so attached to these people that the thought about not seeing them ever again was actually quite painful. And yet, it was still the safest notion to ponder about. Bilbo didn’t want his mind to wander towards the memories of the battle, Smaug, or – or anyone else.

Those lazy days came to an end rather abruptly, when a stone broke their kitchen window and hit the table two days after the issue of The Weekly Review with Bilbo’s article was released. Luckily, the stone destroyed only a jar of orange jelly, but Bilbo’s peace was shattered together with the glass. He learned that Bungo already had to scare off some rascals and paparazzi who wanted to talk to Bilbo; Belladonna was even forced to use her superpower once to remove a particularly persistent type from their threshold. It seemed that his article gained much more attention than he expected and he himself - definitely more than he wanted. Speaking nervously with the glazier over the phone Bilbo decided that couldn’t hide under the cherry tree anymore. He needed to pick up and finish what he started.

Not like he had the slightest idea what to do now. Even less so after he opened his mailbox, full to the brim with congratulations, hate letters, thank-you notes, threats, and job offers, and when his phone almost self-combusted from all the unanswered calls and messages. Instinctively he started from all the nasty threats and accusations, feeling obliged to show these people the error of their ways, to explain to them how unjustified and wrong their fear and hatred were. Luckily for him, Belladonna noticed his sulky demeanour, found out its cause quickly and decided that she would have none of it.

“You are the sweetest and the most stupid creature ever born,” she announced, closing the lid of Bilbo’s laptop rather violently and without a warning. “Didn’t your mother teach you: _Never feed the trolls_?”

“I was eight then!” Bilbo protested, trying to retrieve his laptop from his mother’s grasp, but to no avail. She took it away with a determined frown. “I thought that you were talking about giving my lunch to these bullies in primary school!”

“Oh, it applies to the internet too,” Belladonna said with a wink. When she gave him his laptop back, the mailbox contained merely a hundred of messages, and all the traces of the spiteful e-mails were gone, even from the folder with deleted items. He could see that his list of blocked addresses lengthened significantly too. “Here you go, now you can focus on the important things.”

And Bilbo did. He flung himself into work so hard that he managed the not-thinking-about-the-Strider part quite splendidly. He wrote a million of messages and comments, thanking for the support of the superhero cause and explaining some issues which he considered worth his time. He drafted the next article, in which he elaborated on the superheroes’ families. And finally, after a lengthy cajoling by a particularly stubborn journalist and the insistence of his mother he accepted an invitation to a live interview on TV.

“We tried to contact the Company and the other heroes,” the journalist – a young but very engaged and professional woman named Sigrid – assured, “but they didn’t reply. Not that I’m shocked,” she added with a sigh. “I wouldn’t agree either, not when the public is so roused. But it’s great that you agreed! I know you’ll do them justice.”

In order to stand up to this statement Bilbo engaged all his forces to prepare for the interview and got so absorbed that he almost forgot about the interview itself. Totally panicked he basically run out of the house to the bus stop, completely forgetting about hauling a cab, and all but bumped into a stranger. Avoiding the collapse in the very last moment, he lost his balance and would fall if the stranger didn’t hold him.

“Uh, excuse me, I’m very sorry, sir, I need to run!” Bilbo blurted out, not even bothering to glance at the person he’d almost hit.

“Run from what?”

Only now he looked up to the man who still held his arms, as if Bilbo was to trip over his own feet again. He looked somewhat a mixture of a forlorn homeless poet, a serial killer, and a ruffled owl but with blue eyes. Bilbo strained his memory but even though the man seemed somewhat familiar, he did not recall meeting him, which was rather weird – not that he’d made this public knowledge, but Bilbo really had a thing for such romantic vagabonds.

“Are you daft?!” The violent shake served him by the stranger woke him up from his musings. “Did anyone threaten you?”

Bilbo wrenched himself out of the man’s arms and straightened his jacked nervously. “It’s none of your business, you – you _creep_!” he declared with all the dignity he had and run off, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. Thank goodness, the man did not follow.

Despite this unpleasant adventure – or maybe thanks to it – the interview went far better than Bilbo expected. He got so occupied with the stranger, whom he nicknamed The Creep, that he forgot about his nervousness. He didn’t forget about the man though; on the contrary, this encounter caught on him and he couldn’t shake off the shocked expression on The Creep’s face when he told him off. Bilbo worked very hard on writing his next articles, giving more interviews, attending newly established superhero support groups; he was busier than ever, barely finding time for eating and sleeping. And yet, he always found time to ponder about the upsetting things – not only the Company and the Strider now, but The Creep too. Well, my dear friends, it’s just how Bilbo was.

It wasn’t doing him any good though, because he started to see The Creep all the time, or at least he thought he did. He never actually met him again face to face (or well, face to neck, really), but he was almost sure that he saw the man – in the alleyway near the community centre where the support meetings were held, in the grocery store in his neighbourhood, in the crowd in the underground station – always watching him with these piercing blue eyes. It always lasted a moment, a heartbeat only; upon a second glance The Creep disappeared, if he indeed had been there at all. It made Bilbo stirred unpleasantly and vigilant to the point of paranoia.

The problem was that Bilbo really didn’t have time to spare for any obsessions right now, when the superhero support movement started to gain momentum. He had articles and polemics to write, meetings to attend and people to meet; willingly or not he became an advocate of the superhero cause, at least until the superheroes wouldn’t decide to come out and speak up openly. This unnerved him deeply – the fact that he spoke on behalf of people who didn’t actually appoint him to, and who could take care of their business far better than he could. Once he even confronted his mother about standing up as a representative of superheroes, but Belladonna was adamant.

“I have enough idiots to deal with in the board of supervisors, thank you very much,” she said with a shrug. “And for that I get paid at least.”

“But you could lead them, mum,” Bilbo insisted, shaking his head. “Show people the way. I can’t do it…”

“Of course you can’t, but you don’t have to. Believe me, superheroes don’t need anyone to instruct them to stand up for what’s right.”

“So what do I do?”

“Wait,” she said with a small sad smile. Her shadow moved on the floor towards his and gave it a brief hug. “Give people their space. You did a lot, Bilbo, more that we could expect you to do. But this is something we need to do on our own terms, son. And we will.”

It wasn’t the answer he liked, not at all; even if he knew deep inside that his mother was right, the idea of convincing, discussing, fighting and _waiting_ appalled him. Even after all this time he hoped that somehow, someday, if he did well enough, he’d see the Company again, he’d have the chance to apologize. Selfish as it was, Bilbo couldn’t force himself to abandon this thought completely. Irritated, mostly with himself, he rushed out of the house and walked briskly ahead, not minding the directions. Lost in thoughts, he didn’t notice the quickly setting sun and the ugliness of the surroundings. Only after he almost bumped into a clearly drunken young football fan did he start to pay attention. And good for him, as he heard a patter of two pairs of heavy-booted feet, following him everywhere he went. All the paranoiac habits he’d picked up thanks to The Creep quickly kicked in and Bilbo started to discreetly look around for a place to hide. There wasn’t anything he considered safe, though, so he just walked – maybe only a bit more _briskly_ than before. Unfamiliar with this neighbourhood, he turned left, and left again, trying to gain some distance, but his followers were persistent. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Bilbo run, turning left on each crossroad he met.

“Stop, you fucking freak lover!”

They would get him, Bilbo had little doubts about that. He wasn’t too optimistic about the follow-up either. He heard about the Normalcy Protection League and Pure Army, paramilitaries which organized within mere days of the battle with Smaug to “protect normal people from the rise of dangerous freaks and other abnormal scum”; there wasn’t much uncertainty about what would the self-proclaimed normalcy warriors do with the person who’d started all the pro-superhero movement. So Bilbo ran for his dear life, panting heavily, until he literally hit a wall at the end of a blind alley.

Closing his eyes, for the second time in his life Bilbo silently prayed for a superhero to save him, knowing that no one would come. He heard a short nasty laughter and a soft thud, like someone hitting his palm with his fist. And then a long, unnerving moment of silence. Shivering all over his body, Bilbo opened his eyes.

At the entry to the alley stood The Creep.

And then, looking at his pale, furious face, Bilbo snapped. There was only so much one can handle and he had hereby reached his limit. In three strides he was by The Creep, poking him violently in the chest.

“You! You batshit crazy stalker! What do you want from me?! Freak me out? Bully me? Go ahead, you fucker,” he snarled, taking a step back and raising his chin. “Here I am, you can beat the shit out of me, o noble protector of the innocent norms! But you know what – you won’t stop me. They are people and they deserve – oh, for god’s sake, they are my _friends_ and I promised to protect them. Whatever you do, you fucking nutter, I won’t let it go!”

“I know,” The Creep said so quietly that Bilbo barely could hear it. There was something sad in his voice, and something painfully familiar. “I know it now.”

He grabbed Bilbo’s forearm very gently and closed his eyes. Bilbo must have blinked too, hit by recognition and joy and shock and anger and disbelief all at once, because a heartbeat later he stood on the pavement before his neighbours’ house, and he was alone.

*

“Bilbo, if you don’t get down here in three seconds, I _will_ come for you!”

While he didn’t move, Bilbo could not suppress a wince. In any other case he would laugh at himself – he was an independent adult, he faced the Dragon and street thugs, and yet his mum’s threats still stirred him somehow. Not enough to make him leave his safe space, though. Even as a child Bilbo wasn’t very stubborn – he was rather the shy, avoiding type who just worried quietly on his own – so it wasn’t often that he was blackmailed this way, but there was a pattern. Bilbo would hide up in his room when he screwed something and didn’t had it in himself to face his own failure. Usually his mother would come up here and basically drag him out into the light again, and after a brief shock he was able to set things right and even be grateful to her. But this time he knew he just wouldn’t get the chance to make up for anything, so he settled up on staying in his room until the feelings weaken at least a bit, and he was prepared to fight for it.

There was a series of creaks on the stairs; Bilbo tensed and wrapped the blanked tighter around himself. He heard a soft knock and the door opened.

“Your mother asked you to come downstairs.”

Now that was unexpected; Bilbo dropped the blanket and looked at his father, suddenly scared and worried. The whole idea of Belladonna _coming up there for him_ was that deep inside they both knew that while Bilbo needed time and place to work his concerns through, he also needed a kick in the rear to stop worrying and get back to doing again and Belladonna was the one to deliver it. Bungo never intervened in these exchanges, only observing them from afar, as if to make sure that neither of them went over the top. So his appearing here, with arms folded on his prominent tummy and brows knitted tightly, could only mean that there was something serious going on.

“Did I…” Bilbo trailed off, because of course he _did_ something wrong. “Is mum upset?”

“She is waiting for you.” Bungo’s eyes didn’t leave his son’s face, which was more than a bit unnerving. His gaze was very focused, as if Bilbo was an ancient parchment which his father wanted to decipher. With a sigh Bilbo stood up, straightened his rumpled shirt and dragged himself towards the door, but his father’s hand stopped him. “I know it’s hard, Bilbo. Believe me, no one knows it better than me. But you can make it, I know it. You’re my boy,” he added affectionately, ruffling Bilbo’s hair.

Bilbo had no idea what his father was talking about, so he just nodded and went down to the living room, but he stopped abruptly at the threshold. At the corner of the table, laid with their second best tea set, sat his mother, all coloured up and angry, and clearly attempted to take a life with her stare. At the second corner, with equally murderous expression, sat The Creep, also known as the Strider. It looked as if they were holding a staring contest of sorts.

“Oh god, finally!” Belladonna hissed and looked at her son, who felt as if he was to melt down to a puddle of jelly under her gaze. “Bilbo, could you please give this young man here a few smacks in the face, or else I’ll have to?”

Bilbo, who still digested the fact that his mother held a tea party with the Strider, nodded slowly but didn’t move. He felt his father’s presence after him and the quiet huffs seemed oddly supporting to him.

“What is going on here?”, he asked, looking from Belladonna to the Strider, hoping for some sort of answer. His mother only inclined her head at their guest, who didn’t seem too keen to explain things either.

“It’s the press conference,” the Strider finally muttered, looking at Bilbo intensely. “We decided… the Company will speak about the battle and call out to abolish the Act, and… And we, uh…”

“Oh, pluralis maiestatis,” Bungo whispered loudly to no one in particular, and the Strider visibly startled.

“And he came here to take you with him as their speaker,” finished Belladonna with a malicious grin. Before Bilbo could come with a reply though, the Strider shot his mother another furious glance, stood up and came to Bilbo, who was torn between flight and fight (which in this case meant a right hook in the gut).

“And I came here to ask if you’d like to come with us. As – as a part of the Company.”

“Of course,” answered Bilbo automatically, and then started to process the information he just heard. “Wait – what?”

“I asked,” repeated the Strider, wincing under the gazes of Bungo and Belladonna, “if you would accompany us. To the conference. As a friend,” he added hastily. It was a wrong move, but he realised it a second too late.

“As long as you walk him home before midnight and more sober than not, I don’t have any objections,” said Bungo in deadly serious tone. “Honey?”

Belladonna just shrugged and stood up, shooting the Strider the last sideways glance. Bilbo moved out of her way and found himself alone with the Strider in his own living room. There were several possible endings of his adventure he considered, but this was certainly not one of them.

“I – I’ll go change,” he said finally, just to say something. “Strider, I’m…”

“It’s Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield,” the Strider – Thorin – interrupted, reaching out a hand. Bilbo shook it and couldn’t but smile. Knowing name of a superhero, it was a big thing. A good, happy thing. “Go, I’ll wait outside.”

He rushed upstairs, jumping three steps at once, and almost bumped in his mother, who pressed a shirt in his hands.

“Take this one, you need to look your best,” she said with a cheeky smile. Bilbo didn’t protest, but he did shake his head in fake despair. “Take this too, for luck.” It was her nightshade ribbon, cleaned after the incident during the battle. “You might need it, you know.”

“What did you do to him?” Bilbo asked, pulling the shirt over his head. He managed it, but not without some difficulties; it seemed that his love handles grew their own love handles since he wore this shirt last time.

“Oh, your father just explained to him that if he behaves like a prick to you ever again, he’ll kill him slowly and painfully with a calligraphy nib, and I’ll be holding him still during the process,” she replied airily. “I’ve watched enough CSI shows, so I promise you, no one will ever find the body.”

Bilbo had his doubts whether the make-him-cry-and-I’ll-make-you-suffer talk was a good idea after, frankly speaking, acquaintance lasting two days of contact and two months of sulking, but he decided against voicing them right now. Instead he kissed his mum on the cheek, pulled in his stomach and ran out of the house to meet Thorin. He waited there patiently, with his hood pulled over his head, ignoring the people stopping on the street and pointing at him. Hoping that the small crowd wouldn’t be too pushy, Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s arm and tugged him towards the gate, but Thorin just sighed and teleported them.

They missed it – of course – but only by a bit. Bilbo, who materialised just by the trash bin and couldn’t, just couldn’t not hit himself in  the elbow, hissed in pain and grabbed the hurting spot. He didn’t care about it too much, though, because he saw the _Shadowfax_ , in all its silver glory, parked in the middle of a roundabout.

“How did you get here?!”

“It’s the Whisperer. He suggested the policemen to wrap it all up with the yellow tape,” Thorin explained, gesturing towards the massive amounts of the plastic band hung everywhere. _Police line, do not cross_ , it said. “We were in a hurry,” he added apologetically, but Bilbo really didn’t care. He was too happy to think about it just now. He grabbed Thorin’s arm again and rushed towards the superjet, but Thorin stopped him. He took his hood off and looked at Bilbo with those intense blue eyes of is. For a brief second Bilbo believed Thorin was going to kiss him and this thought must have short-circuited something vital in his brain, because he suddenly forgot that he should breathe.

“Look, Bilbo – I’m sorry. I was an asshole, I misjudged you, and I’ve never been so wrong in my whole life. I –“

“I know,” Bilbo said quietly, looking him in the eyes. He suddenly felt very light, as if made of bubbles. “I know it now.”  

Thorin wanted to say something more, but Bilbo shook his head and gestured towards _Shadowfax_ ,which opened with a familiar hiss.

It was just like a _déjà vu_ , because when he got on board, he heard T-Rex roar and throw cards at someone, and the Leprechaun singing a doleful duo with the Pied Piper. All the noise stopped suddenly though when Baccarat squealed: “It’s Bilbo! He’s back!”

Had Bilbo even wondered how does American football work, he’d figure it out just now, when the Company threw themselves over him for a group hug. When the joy from their reunion was expressed properly, and Bilbo convinced everyone that he didn’t need CPR, he finally had the chance to sit down and look at everyone’s faces. Thorin, he noticed, sat just by his side – a bit too close for it being casual, but still too far to be meaningful. He didn’t want to focus on it though, not just now at least, because he saw that – despite all the _déjà vu_ – there was something very different from the last time.

All members of the Company had their faces uncovered. No hoods, no masks, no fooling glasses.

“Well, I thought, um… we thought, that…” stumbled Thorin, but the Whisperer took pity.

“It’s Balin, laddie,” he said with a smile and a nod. “And that’s my brother Dwalin”. T-Rex flashed a toothy grin which caused Bilbo some goosebumps.

“Fíli and Kíli, at your service!” The youngsters made a mock-bow, just like the first time. They were soon chastised by the Knitter – Dori, as he said with a charming smile. Nori just winked at him, phasing through his big brother’s pockets to steal him some knitting needles. Fidgeting in his place, Ori waved at Bilbo, playing nervously with his glasses. There were friendly grunts from Bifur, a wide smile from Bofur and a small but happy one from Bombur. Even Óin and Glóin, who pretended to be untouched by all this, gave him a friendly poke in the side and a lopsided grin.

“And it’s Gandalf, Gandalf Grey!” came from the cockpit. The Wizard’s voice was trembling from suppressed laughter. “At your service, my dear lad!”

“Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo answered, trying to look each of the Company’s members in the eyes. He felt Thorin’s presence at his side and smiled. “At yours.”


End file.
